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Dean Swift 

A Drama 

In Four Scenes, Four Acts and an Epilogue. 



Period of Queen Anne, 1716 



ELEANOR CORDE, Author 



Copyrighted in the United States and Great Britain 



(This play is fully protected by copyright law, all requirements 
of which have been complied with. In its present printed form K> 
ie d^e^isat^ to lihfc i*eadin?j Ru<t?Kc <Wty, &rfl| no performance may 
be given except by special permission from the owner of the 
acting rights, who may be addressed in care of the publisher.) 



McBride Publishing Co., 

Los Angeles, Cal. 

mcmxxii. 



£0* 



T<& 



Copyright 1922 in the 
United States and Great Britain 
by 
Eleanor Corde 



JMi »7 1923 
©CLD 63416 



<V 



Foreword 



In the 18th century, during the troubled reign of 
Queen Anne, an obscure Irish clergyman arrived in 
London. But when it became known that he was 
the author of "The Battle of the Books" both Whigs 
and Tories fought for the aid of his powerful pen. 

Now, Jonothan Swift was a Whig — but a 
Churchman first. So he threw in his fortunes with 
the Tories and became, within six months, a Tory 
Chief without a portfolio. According to Johnson, 
"Swift was the Dictator of the politics of the Eng- 
lish nation." 

For reward, the Premier offered him money, which 
Swift refused with scorn; with flattery, which also 
failed ; with power ; which Swift accepted, taking the 
helm of State into his own hands. In the eloquent 
language of The London Times, "Swift was the 
Government; Swift was the Queen, the Lords and 
the Commons." And had Anne listened less to back- 
stair influence, Swift had died a spiritual Peer. 

Two splendid women loved Swift and he loved 
both. But to discover how he rewarded each has re- 
mained a mystery — the despair of historians, becom- 
ing for the past two hundred years a never-failing 
source for debate — as lively a topic for the world 
as though the three actors in the splendid drama 
walked the streets of today. 

This play is based upon that mystery — the identity 
of the woman that Swift really loved; the author 
solving it by its results — the wrecking of Swift's 
happiness and that of the two women who so de- 
votedly loved him. 

— E. C. 



PERSONS IN THE PLAY 

Jonothan Swift (Dean of St. Patrick's Cathedral 
Dublin) 

Charles Ford (Dublin gentleman) 

Richard Hayes (English dragoon) 

Lord Oxford (Treasurer of the Tory ministry) 

Viscompte Bolinbroke (Tory Secretary of State) 

Erasmus Lewis (Under Secretary of State) 

Dr. Delany (Dublin patriot) 

Lord Lovelace (English fop) 

Harcourt (English Politician) 

Stella Johnson (Swift's ward) 

Esther Van Homrigh (Swift's London friend and < 
pupil) 

Duchess of Marlbro (Swift's political enemy) 

Mistress Van Homrigh (Esther's mother) 

Molly Van Homrigh (Esther's sister) 

Mistress Dingley (Swift's house-keeper) 

Ladies Tattleton and Nettleton (Of the English 
Court) 

Misstresses Walsh and Grannan (Her twin girls) and 
Mistress Delany (Of Dublin) 

Patrick (Swift's peasant-servant) 

Jeems (Footman in the Von Homrigh home) 

Preceptor and Choristers (Of St. Patrick's Cathedral) 

Duchess' mute servant, lords and ladies, footmen, 
(All of London) 

Lord Mayor, citizens (All of Dublin) 



ACTI. 

Sitting-room in the Deanery of St. Patrick's 

Cathedral, Dublin. Sunny Morning 

in April, 1716 

ACT II. 

Drawing-room in the Van Homrigh Home, London. 
Three Months Later 

ACT III. 

Lord Oxford's Gardens, London. Evening of Same 

Day 

ACT IV. (Scene First) 
Sitting-room of the Deanery. Two Months Later 

ACT IV. (Scene Second) 

(Instant Rise of Curtain.) Sacristy of St. Patrick's 
Cathedral, Dublin 

EPILOGUE 

Sitting-room of the Deanery. Twenty-five Years 

Later 



Dean Swift 



ACT FIRST 

Scene, Sitting-room in the Deanery of St. Patrick's 
Cathedral, Dublin, Ireland. Sunny morning in April, 
1716. 

A shallow room taking up the entire width of stage. The 
entrance door 1, at left, opens inward, showing a bit 
of green lawn beyond. Above this door is a two-paned 
window, opening against inner wall. Door 2 at 
back-centre, up few shallozv steps, opens out into a 
room, shows a table and few chairs, supposed to be the 
dining-room. Door 3 at right, opens outward onto 
a corridor. To right of door 1 is a quaintly-carved 
mantel-shelf holding vases of simple flowers. Beneath 
this shelf are several wooden pegs that serve as a hat- 
rack. The open fire-place below is filled with green 
boughs. Down right-front is a wire stand of blooming 
plants. Beyond this a wooden settee. To right of 
door 2 is a hanging shelf. On it several volumes 
simply bound, a short, yellow silken curtain half- 
drawn over same. A large round table drawn front- 
centre holds ink-pot, quills, sand-box, a large ledger and 
a pile of coins. On a wooden chair to right of table is 
a large wicker basket filled with simple aprons, little 
knitted shawls, a pair of children's shoes, a frilled 
muslin cap and a pair of clumsy men's boots. At left 
of table is the only rich-looking article in sight — 
Swift's massively-framed, velvet-covered arm-chair, 



2 DEANSWIF1' 

its back rising into a quaint twist. A simply quaintly- 
furnished, attractive room, but almost hinting of 
poverty. 

At rise. Stella Johnson, aged twenty-two, stands at the 
table intent on a page of the ledger and the different 
articles in the basket. In an age of powder and beauty- 
spots she wears neither. Brown-haired, lovely, simply 
dressed, her face wears a pleased smile, and though 
she is English, her animated manner suggests the 
Latin. 

Mistress Dingley, Swift's house-keeper, aged forty, in 
black dress, black apron and keys at belt, with gray 
hair primly tucked into a mob cap, sits grim-visaged, 
off to right, working on a large white cotton square 
while she watches her companion with disapproving 
looks. 

Dingley. 

Chut — pish — . Botherin' yer head, child, wi' that bas- 
ket — . When Swift's beggars shud be seekin' work an' 
not clutterin' up the Deanery steps for something to cover 
their nakedness — . Sure — to go naked shud be teachin' 
em* a lesson — 

Stella. 

[Consulting ledger and picking up articles.] Two 
knitted shawls — there should be three — Ah — here's the 
third— 

Dingley. 

Chut — pah! [Holding up square.] See, Stella, child — 

Stella. 
Three aprons — two caps — . What is it, Dingley, dear ? 



DEAN SWIFT 3 

DlNGLEY. 

Why — this square — finished at last and am that glad — 
Ah-h-h— 

Stella. 

[Teasingly.] Tis a gift for that gossiping friend o' 
yours 'cross the channel — who writes you those 1-o-n-g 
letters ! 

DlNGLEY. 

Aye — 'tis for Mistress White, o' Lunnun. [Sighingly] 
Ah-h-h— 

Stella. 
London's like heaven — isn't it, Dingley, dear? 

DlNGLEY. 

Aye — 'tis what I've thought sin' we've come to live 
here in Dublin. A-h — me! 

Stella. 

An apron for the little Widow Mac — this frilled cap 
for Granny O'Toole — [putting on cap roguishly.] An' 
how d'ye like me, Dingley, dear? 

DlNGLEY. 

Chut — pish — bah! Wi' Swift's grannies and his 
widows! 'Tis no wonder they crowd round him in the 
streets to knale an' kiss his hand — for what? But to get 
frilled caps an' aprons ! 'Tis said that Swift buys up all 
their nadles and pins an' gives 'em back to some "poor 
widdy" at the very next corner — 

Stella. 
A shawl for old Stumphanympha — 



4 DEAN SWIFT 

DlNGLEY. 

Pah! — 'tis a quare trick o' Swift's to be namin' his 
poor — 

Stella. 
And boots for the Duke o' Daily-gate — 

DlNGLEY. 

Pah! — bekase ould Dally hants the Deanery gate — 
Swift's christened him a jooke — 

Stella. 
A shawl for old Tearagowns — 

DlNGLEY. 

Ha ha! — the Dean's christened the ould slattern right 
that time. 

Stella. 

And shoes for the two little Kelleys — [A sudden roar 
of voices from beyond door.] Hark — 

DlNGLEY. 

Tis the Dean's beggars. Faith — they're gettin' weary 
o' waitin' for the Dean's "bounty." Ha ha — 

Stella. 
Nay, Dingley, they are the Dean's parishioners — [go- 
ing to door 2, opening it and calling.] Patrick — [return- 
ing at table. Enter Patrick, aged thirty-five, red- 
cheeked, t ousel-headed, shrewd Irish peasant. Patrick 
pretends fear of Dingley when she speaks to him, giving 
a little "lape" on those occasions.] 

Dingley. 
Aye, aye — young rascal — wastin' time at the kitchen 
door when ye shud be doin' your chores — 



DEAN SWIFT 5 

Patrick. 
Yis'm — no, m'm — [saluting Stella.] Yis, Miss? 

Stella. 
Patrick, take this basket out. 

Patrick. 

[Shouldering basket.] Yis'm. 

DlNGLEY. 

An' place it out o' rach o' them beggars lest they steal 
it, basket an' all — 

Patrick. 

Yes, m'm — [opening door 1. A babble of moans, cries, 
etc., comes from beyond. Patrick closes the door again 
with a comical look to Stella.] 

Stella. 
They're too near the door, Patrick — Bid them move 
far beyond the sacristy — 

Patrick. 
[Saluting.] Yis, Miss — [exit door 1. The babel 
again heard but fading off later. Stella stands at the 
table and begins to count the coins there with doleful 
looks.] 

DlNGLEY. 

The brazen beggars — 'tis the street they shud be 
waitin' in. Hantin' the Deanery gates as though Swift 
had the wealth o' the Indies. 

Stella. 
How few shillings — how few! [Going to bookshelf, 
taking a small china box from behind books, peering with- 
in, shaking her head dolefully, replacing box and return- 
ing to coins on table.] Ah-h — [again counting coins.] 



6 DEAN SWIFT 

DlNGLEY. 

Hah, child — Ye'd better be handin' over them shillings 
to me, for the Deanery kitchen nades new crockery — . 
Aha — 'twas a cracked plate that the Dean ate his break- 
fast off this mornin'. Him as used to be dinin' in Lunnun 
wi' jooks an' lords off gold an' silver dishes — ha ha — . 

Stella. 
Just — twenty shillings — No more! 

DlNGLEY. 

'Tis just two months sin' those Tories made a Dean out 
o' Swift — . Aha — oho — 'Twas a bishop's gown he'd 
counted on — would ha' gotten it, too, but for Duchess 
what's-her-name. What's the name o' Swift's Duchess, 
child? 

Stella. 

Marlbro — Marlbro — . Don't bother me, Dingley, dear. 

Patrick. 
[Re-entering with suppressed merriment.] Miss? 

Stella. 
Patrick? 

Patrick. 
Another nady wan, Miss — . A new wan — . 

Stella. 
Another? Dear me, Patrick — . 

Patrick. 
Tim Casey — as wuz nivir known to wor-r-k a day — . 

DlNGLEY. 

Won't work ? He shud be hung instead o' fed — . 



DEAN SWIFT 7 

Patrick. 
[To Stella.] An' the father o' six childer — . 

DlNGLEY. 

Six children? He shud be hung an' quartered — . 

Stella. 
Bid the poor man wait with the others — . 

Patrick. 
Yis, Miss — [Exit door 1 again.] 

Stella. 
Ah — the poor Dean's list of poor helpless ones grows 
longer daily — . 

DlNGLEY. 

Aye — an' 'twill bring his proud spirit to the dust when 
he's no longer able to feed his beggars — that follow him 
in crowds — . Faugh! 

Stella. 
Nay, Dingley, just as those Londons beggars did. 

DlNGLEY. 

Ah — but aren't English beggars a more dacent lot? 

Stella. 

Silly Dingley — that can see nothing good on earth lest 
'tis English — [Beginning to dust Swift's chair with her 
handkerchief, tenderly brushing the velvet.] Heaven 
grant that Cathedral bazaar nets Swift's poor not less 
than twenty pounds. 

Dingley. 

The bazaar, forsooth — when the only fat purse there 
will be that of Charles Ford who'd gi' the moon did ye 
ask for it — . 



8 DEAN SWIFT 

Stella. 
[Laughing.] Nay, nay — the moon indeed! 

Dingley. 
For 'tis aisily seen that he adores ye — . 

Stella. 
Silly old Dingley. Charles is merely my friend. 

Dingley. 
[Bitterly.] Let but Swift step aside an' gi' young Ford 
his chance — . 

Stella. 
Be quiet, Dingley dear. 

Dingley. 

[Bitterly.] Humph — One'd think 'twas a Prince Royal 
was to sit in that chair — . 

Stella. 

So 'tis. A Prince Royal o' wit, wisdom and all that 
goes to make a kingly man. As for goodness — 'twas your- 
self told me how he took me from my dead mother's 
arms. He gave me the shelter of his home — the privilege 
of his friendship — . So — how can I help but revere him ? 

Dingley. 

Yet ye can't make him out more'n a dean — an Irish 
parson. Faugh ! 

Stella. 

Ah — 'tis a great change. Banished from the English 
court of which he must have been its finest ornament — . 
Exiled here to Dublin — to the paltry duties of a 
deanery — . 



DEAN SWIFT 9 

DlNGLEY. 

Him as used to rub elbows wi' English lords — sneer 
at maids o' honor becase they painted their faces a bit — 
Aye — aha — him as used to visit the Quane's bed-cham- 
ber — Bah — bed-chamber — . 

Stella. 
Fie, Dingley ! fie ! fie ! For the Queen's bed-chamber is 
a reception-room — . 

Dingley. 
Bah — . Isn't a bed-chamber a bed-chamber the 
wur-rld over? I say it is — an' more shame to Swift to be 
in't — aven wi' his Queen — . 

Stella. 
But — if there were forty others present, Dingley dear? 

Dingley. 
I telle a bed-chamber's a bed-chamber where-e'er it is, 
an' oft have I remembered it when Swift was thundering 
forth his sermon from the pulpit o' his Cathedral o' a 
Sunday — . 

Stella. 
[Going to Dingley and placing a hand gently on her 
shoulder.] Dingley dear, why so hard on the poor Dean? 

Dingley. 
[Pushing aside the hand roughly.} Hard on him, am 
I? And I mane to be hard on him so long's he so blind 
to what's so plain to me — your love for him. 

Stella. 
[Recoiling.] My — love — for Swift? [Moving off.] 

Dingley. 
Aye — just that! 



10 DEAN SWIFT 

Stella. 
But — no — no — no. 

Dingley. 
Haven't I heard ye murmur his name in dreams ? 

Stella. 
In — dreams? [Suddenly laying a hand on her own lips.] 

Dingley. 
Hah — 'tis true, then? 

Stella. 
[Recovering.] In dreams, maybe. But in broad day- 
light I well know that a simple girl like me can never hope 
to mate with a genius like Swift. Ha ha — Swift — that 
never bothers with silly womankind — . 

Dingley. 
Yet Mistress White's letters tell o' Swift's Lunnun 
charmer — a Mistress Esther Van Homrigh — . 

Stella. 
[Down front, agitatedly, aside.] Esther Van Homrigh ! 

Dingley. 
Who rides in her coach — has flunkies at her mother's 
door — at whose house Swift kapes his best gown — where 
Swift's Tory lords can ever find him when wanted — in 
Mistress Esther's coffee-room — . 

Stella. 
Pooh — such gossip worries me not — for why shouldn't 
the Dean have women friends — . 

Dingley. 
Let 'em be ould an' ugly, then — not beautiful as this 
Mistress Esther's said to be — . An' 'tis reported — . 



DE AN SWIF T 11 

Stella. 
[Passionately.] Stop — stop — I'll not listen to aught 
against the Dean — . 

Dingley. 
But if it be the truth, child. Isn't it better to know 
the truth an' stop eatin' your heart out for one that loves 
another — . 

Stella. 
I tell you I'll not listen — not listen — [Almost in tears.] 

Patrick 
[Bursting in at door 1.] A' say, Miss — . 

Dingley. 
Say yer say, fool, an' be quick about it — . 

Stella. 
Patrick? 

Patrick 
Coompany comin' Miss, coompany — The ladies De- 
lany — Walsh an' Grannan wi' her two twins — . 

Stella. 
[Brightly.] Bid them enter, Patrick — [Patrick sa- 
lutes, exits again.] Promise, Dingley dear, not to sneer 
at these kindly Irish. 

Dingley. 
Let 'em say naught 'gainst us English, then. 

[Patrick ushers in at door 1 three quaintly-dressed, 
middle-aged women, in shawls, poke bonnets, plastered 
locks and faces shining with friendliness. Two children 
in pantalettes and Leghorn hats follow shyly in, carrying 
between them a white cotton, f ringed-out basket. Stella 



12 DE AN SWIFT 

hurries forward. There is a babel of greetings, the 
children adoring Stella with their eyes. Stella instantly 
falls into using the Dublin accent. Exit Patrick door 1.] 

Mistresses Delany, Walsh and Gannan. 
Top o' the mornin' — top o' the mornin' — give good day 
to ye, Miss — . 

Stella. 
Oh, Mistress Walsh — Mistress Gannan — Mistress De- 
lany — [shaking hands.] And the dear children — [Who 
drop basket and rush adoringly to her arms.] 

Mistresses Delany, Walsh and Gannan. 
[Primly, to Dingley, with suppressed smiles to each 
other.] Good day to ye — good day, ma'am — . 

Dingley. 
[Primly, rising.] Same to ye. An' if ye've time to stay 
I'll sarve ye refreshment — . 

Stella. 
[Quickly.] Yes, yes, Dingley. [Exit Dingley stiffly 
door 3.] 

Mistress Walsh. 
Ach — the poor crature — . 

Mistress Gannan. 
Let it not be crame she's to sarve us lest it sour on the 
way — . 

Stella. 
Nay, ladies, but her heart's all right. You!re not to 
mind her. Off wi' your shawls and bonnets — . Hah — 
those bundles — they're something for the Dean's bazaar — 
[Mistress Delany, the primmest of the three guests, 
places her shawl and bonnet on the settee with the others, 



DEAN SWIFT 13 

then bashfully retires to rear with her bundle. The children 
take off hats and rush to door 1 to bring down the f ringed- 
out cotton basket.] 

Mistress Gannan. 
[Showing gift, a knitted shawl.] Faith, Mistress 
Stella, 'tis a wee small gift indade — . 

Stella. 
[With enthusiasm.] 'Twill bring shillings to the ba- 
zaar and a bit o' comfort to some woman's shoulders — 
[Snatching up the dainty muslin cap from Mistress 
Walsh's bundle as Dingley primly re-enters with a plate 
of cake which she silently passes round. The three 
women take pieces gingerly, the children refuse. Dingley 
places plate on mantel-shelf and sourly returns to her 
square. Stella puts the cap on her head.] 'Tis myself 
as ud fancy a chance to win this cap — . 

Mistress Walsh. 
[Slyly.] Ye cud wear it as ye sit opposite the Dane 
at his breakfast table — . 

Mistress Gannan. 
An' may ye sit at that same table for the rest o' your 
life—. 

Stella. 
Nay — nay — [Embarrassed, yet laughing.] Will ye see 
this f ringed-out basket, now — ? Ye made it yourselves, 
children — [They nod.] And bought the cotton wi' your 
own pennies? Ye darlings — [Embracing both.] 

Mistress Gannan. 
I say, Miss — [Slyly indicating Mistress Delany at rear 
eating her cake with one hand and clutching her bundle 
with the other.] 'Tis something she refused to show us 
on the way, Miss. 



14 DEAN SWIFT 

Stella. 
[Bringing Mistress Delany down.] Mistress Delany — 
let us see what ye have there for the bazaar — . 

Mistress Delany 
[Standing bashfully at table.] Nay, 'tis naught at all, 
at all. 

Stella. 
Let us be the judge o' that. [Mistress Delany hesi- 
tatingly discards the paper cover and displays a yard- 
square silken quilt of many colors, green predominating. 
There is a chorus from all the others but Dingley. 
"Splendid," "Grand!"] 

Stella. 
Tis magnificent — faith — St. Patrick's self'd be proud 
o' it—. 

Mistress Delany 
Then may good luck go with it for the Dane's bazaar — 
[Giving it to Stella.] 

Stella. 
'Tis a beautiful gift — . 

Dingley. 
Aye — had it less o' green in it. 

Mistress Delany 

Less — o' — green — [Collapsing into Swift's chair with 
closed eyes and stiffened limbs. Her two friends toss 
cake onto table, rush to her, chafe her hands, fan her with 
kerchiefs, etc.] 

Stella. 

[Hurrying to Dingley.] Dingley, Dingley — [Pointing 
to the others.] 



DE AN SWIF T 15 

DlNGLEY. 

Pooh — all I said was the truth, wasn't it? [Mistress 
Delany revives.] 

Stella. 
[Joining the others, gayly.] Listen, ladies. You're to 
know that Mistress Dingley hates even grass 'cause 'tis 
green — . 

The Three Women. 
[Mollified.] Hates— grass ? Oh— Oh— . 

Dingley. 
Chut — pish — bah — . 

Stella. 
Let a green butterfly or even a green grasshopper hover 
near — . 

The Three Women. 
[With pitying looks at Dingley.] Och — the poor 
crature — to hate a grane butterfly. 

Dingley. 
[Explosively.] Chut — pish — I'd have ye to know — . 

Stella. 
[To prevent an outbreak. Drawing children to her em- 
brace.] Ah — ye dear things — . 

Mistress Gannan. 
Ye shud be havin' some av yer own, Miss — . 

Stella. 
Sure I'd love to — . 

Mistress Walsh. 
[Slyly.] An' the Dane'd make a splendid father. 



16 DEAN SWIFT 

Stella. 
Shame on ye, Mistress Walsh. 

Mistress Walsh. 
[Gravely.] 'Tis what all Dublin expects. 

Dingley. 
Aye — aye — let Swift say to Stella "marry me" — 

Stella. 
[Rushing to snatch the square from Dingley's hands 
and holding it up.] See, ladies, the fine square that Mis- 
tress Dingley has made for the Dean's bazaar — . 

Dingley. 
[Snatching it back.] Tis not for the bazaar at all at 
all — . 'Tis a gift for Mistress White o' Lunnun. 

The Three Women. 
[With awe.] O' Lunnun? 

Dingley. 
Aye, Lunnun. 

Mistress Gannan. 
What news from there, Miss? 

Stella. 
The war still goes on. Though the Dean declares 'tis a 
useless waste o' blood an' treasure. But — who cares for 
Lunnun news now that the Dean is here in Dublin? 

Mistress Walsh. 
An' may he nivir return to his Tories — . 

Mistress Delany 
They have nobody now to pull thim out o' trouble, and 
Doctor Delany says — . 



DEAN SWIFT 17 

DlNGLEY. 
"Doctor Delany SAYS ! !" Wouldn't ye think 'twas an 
oracle spoke — . 

Mistress Delany 
Ow — w — [signs of another collapse.] 

Stella. 
[ To prevent same. ] Come, children, give us a song. 

Mistress Gannan. 
Stop, Johanna, hangin' on Mistress Stella. Sure, she's 
a grown-up lady. Faith, Miss, they'll sing naught but the 
new song — 'tis a game as well. Tis called "Lunnun Bridge 
is fallin' down." Sing, Johanna — Begin, Kitty agra— . 

The Children 
[Clasping hands at centre and singing the lines] — 
"London Bridge is fallin' down — ' 

Fallin' down — fallin' down — 
London Bridge is fallin' down — 
My — fair — ladye." 

[Standing with raised hands in an arch, all but Dingley 
pass under. The second time Stella is stopped in the 
arch, gets a whispered word from a child, on which she 
goes behind her and clasps her waist. Each of the three 
women cross under the arch, following Stella's action; 
till, finally all stand swaying at center, singing, swinging 
and keeping time with tapping feet.] 

Patrick. 
[Rushing in at door 1.] Whist — whist — [They ignore 
him. Upon which Patrick forgets his manners and 
rushes into the group.] WHIST— THE DAN&-THE 
DANE—. 



18 DE AN SW IF T 

Stella and the Three Women. 
THE DEAN — [In laughing dismay as all hurry into 
shawls and hats, Stella helping the twins. Dingley 
seizes the gifts, thrusts them hastily behind the silken cur- 
tain at book-shelf, snatches up the plate of cake and hurries 
through door 3 with it. Instantly returns to sit demurely 
on settee at right, pretending to work on her square, but 
plainly anticipating Swift's "catching" the group.] 

Stella. 
But why hurry away? Sure, the Dean'll not ate ye — . 

Mistress Walsh. 
Ah — but fancy him findin' us Lunnun Bridgin' in his 
sitting-room — . 

Mistress Gannan. 
The Dane — that ever hates "silly womankind" — . 

Stella. 
No — 'tis not so at all — . 

Mistress Delany 
Aye, Miss, but he does. For 'twas only this mornin' 
that the Doctor said — . 

Dingley. 
The Doctor SAID! Chut— pish— bah-h-h— . 

Mistress Gannan. 
[Mistress Delany collapses again. Mistress Gan- 
nan catches her in time. Mistress Walsh helps. Ap- 
pealingly.] Ah, Miss — for a short cut to gate — . 

Stella. 
Patrick shall show ye past the sacristy — beyond the 
Dean's tulip-bed — [Patrick leads to door 1. The two 



BE AN SWIF T 19 

women slowly follow, still supporting Mistress Delany. 
The twins follow. Door closed.] Dingley dear — when 
you promised me to be nice to them — . 

Dingley. 

But wasn't I "nice?" Did I speak aught but the 
blessed truth? Besides, I have it in for her wonderful 
"doctor." Sure, I hate every bone in his body. [Door 1 

opens. The twins again rush in. Stella meets them 
at centre, takes a gay whirl with them, then kneels at cen- 
tre, embracing them.] 

[Swift enters, unnoticed but by Dingley. Swift, in 
the forty-fifth year of his age. Tall, commanding, even 
kingly presence. In black wig, black cloth knee-breeches 
and jacket, low-cut shoes, silver buckles, black cloak, 
ie shovel" hat and white linen "bands." His look is moddy. 
But, as he hangs cloak and hat on pegs under mantel-shelf 
and views the scene at centre, his face brightens as he 
comes down. The children discover him, point at him 
with affrighted looks, rush past him and out at door 1. 
Swift takes no notice, but comes down to Stella, who, 
caught in "silliness," droops her head. Swift lifts her 
face with half -sad, half -bantering smile, lifting her and 
bringing her down front, his arm about her. Stella, 
with a little cry as of embarrassment, drops her head on 
his breast.] 

Swift. 

[After a moment, his arm still about her, staring 
moodily ahead.] You — love — those — children, Stella? 

Stella. 
[With eager look.] Yes — as I love ALL children — . 



20 DE AN SWIF T 

Swift. 
[After a pause.] Ah — would that Swift would be 
wise — be wise — and so — be happy — [Releasing Stella 
and sinking moodily into his chair.] 

Stella. 
[Behind him, touching his shoulder with sympathy.] 
Swift—. 

Swift. 
[Patting the hand.] My one — true — friend — . 

Stella. 
Always! [Turning ledger to him and pointing to it.] 
See — all's ready — the shillings for your poor, waiting be- 
yond the door. 

Swift. 
[With strong distaste, drawing ledger forward.] Ah — 
ye think to hide from me the bitterness o' my lot? 

Stella. 
Nay — but to show you the brightness of it. 

Swift. 
And Dingley there — . She's in the kindly plot too ? 

Dingley. 
Nay — . If so keen an eye as the Dean's sees not the 
benefit o' his deanery, may it remain blind till the end. 

Swift. 

[Without bitterness.] Aye, Dingley. Caustic's good 

for a wound. Do not hesitate to lay it on. [Mutteringly, 

as he scans page.] Ah — . This dispensing of "charity." 

"Whom the Lord loveth, he chastiseth," eh? And 'tis 



DEAN SWIFT 21 

left to "charity" to heal the sore — . God's poor ! Aye — 
and at the devil's mercy, too, for who DARE deny that 
poverty leads to crime — and crime to perdition? [Silent, 
staring. Patrick enters door 1, two featherless chickens 
in hand.] 

Patrick. 
Ahem — yer rivirince — . 

Swift. 
What now, sirrah? 

Patrick. 

[Holding up chickens.] From Archbishop, sor. His 
futman waits beyant — . 

Swift, 

For my thanks, eh? Throw them over the deanery wall 
and begone — [Returning to page. Stella dismisses Pat- 
rick to door 1 and places chickens on chair at left. Mut- 
teringly with rising fury.] "Catty, the widow" aged 
eighty, "one shilling." "Mary Meggs" chasted wi' ears 
that hear not, "one shilling." "Larry Fergus" paralyzed 
and ever hungry "one shilling." "Peggy Malone" the 
widowed mother of six, wi' another under her heart — 
"one shilling." One shilling — [striking the table.] ONE 
SHILLING — yet I've naught to give her but one shil- 
ling — [Rising and walking about with fierce gestures and 
muttering s.] God — oh God — ! [With deep sympa- 
thetic look at Swift, Stella gathers up the coins, goes to 
door 1 and out, the distant voices of beggars again heard.] 

Dingley. 

Humph — she's off now — to gie away the Dean's "pen- 
nies." Ah-h — 'tis a g-r-e-a-t change fro' dispensin' 
"favors" to the English nobility — . 



22 DEAN SWIFT 

Swift. 
[Hearing only her voice.] Be quiet, woman. 

Dingley. 
What'll ye say when she gie's hersel' to Ford — as 
loves her — . Ford — who's young an' rich — . 

Swift. 
[As before.] Silent, can't ye — . 

Dingley. 
[Hanging her square on chair at left, looks back at 
Swift with sneering look.] Humph — [Exits door 3.] 

Stella. 
[Re-enters, followed by a red-cheeked, husky, ragged 
beggar who, on seeing Swift, mutely refuses to advance, 
remaining at door 1. Stella comes down, touches 
Swift's arm gently.] Dear, another applicant. 

Swift. 
[Not turning, gruffly.] Not see him. 

Stella. 
But poor and hungry — . 

Swift. 
Have naught for him. 

Stella. 
But the father of six children. 

Swift. 
[Wheeling toward beggar.] Six children! SIX CHIL- 
DREN ! ! [Crossing to beggar, seising his arm and fling- 
ing him down front, to before him.] So, sirrah! Wi' 
not a ha'pence in your pocket — yet the father o' six 



DE AN SWIF T 23 

children! Girls who'd be fair an' rosey — boys who'd be 
strong an' straight but for want o' bread ! And how DARE 
ye look me in the face and ask for charity? [Discarding 
beggar to rush down front with upflung arms, mutter- 
ingly.] Heaven witness for me if assistance should be 
given this unconscious criminal ! ! ! Six children and not 
another shilling in my treasury till next Monday. [Star- 
ing about for something to give away. Hurrying to chick- 
ens, catching them up, also the cotton square to wrap them 
in, thrusting both into the beggar's hands and roughly 
pushing him to door 1.] There now — be off — be off — and 
don't come back here till next Monday — [Beggar, terri- 
fied, rushes through door 1. Swift, with a look of relief, 
returns to his chair. To Stella, who has moved to save 
the square, then refrained.] Can thank Archbishop — now 
— wi' a clear conscience. [Dingley re-enters door 3 as 
Patrick enters door 1 with letterbag.] 

Patrick. 
[Saluting.] Yer rivirince — [Holding up bag.] 

Swift. 

[Eagerly.] Come hither, man — [Patrick obeys. 
Swift eagerly seises the bag, empties contents out, dis- 
cards the bag, which Patrick carries out door 2. Hold- 
iing up a letter] — For Mistress Rebecca Dingley. [Ding- 
ley hurries forward and takes it quickly. To Stella] — 
A newspaper, two useless pamphlets — and no letter for the 
Dean — . Forgotten — in three short months, fogotton — / 

Dingley. 

[Having opened letter. In triumph.] 'Tis myself as is 
not forgotten — 'Tis a letter from London — [Swift takes 
no notice, sinking into moodiness again. Dingley crosses 
to settee and reads her letter.] 



24 DEAN SWIFT 

Stella 
Forgotten by your London friends, but see the newer 
friends you have — . Archbishop — Dr. Delany — Charles 
Ford . 

Swift. 
[Dismissing all as dust.] Pah-pah — . 

Stella 
And see the fine deanery they've given you — . 

Swift. 
Four wretched walls — . 

Stella. 
Wi' Cathedral at its very doors — . 

Swift. 
Aye — filled with slaves that rise not 'gainst the whip 
that flays — the taxes that rob them — the rents that rack 
them to the dust — ! 

Stella. 
Ah — but now that the great Dean is here to fight — to 
defend them — . 

Swift. 
Bah, child — . Swift is but a memory now — . A maggot 
on a dunghill — . Go — leave me to my misery — [Beginning 
to read newspaper with little interest.] 

Stella. 
[Crossing to Dingley, who is now reading her letter 
and shaking her head over it. In lower tone] — Bad news, 
Dingley dear? 

Dingley. 
[Suddenly pressing the letter to her breast.] Yes an' 
no. 



DE AN SWIFT 25 

Stella. 
[Recoiling.] Dingley — ! 

Dingley. 
Forgive me, child. Tis a letter from Mistress White 
o* Lunnun. As for news [with a sniff — replacing it in 
bosom. Missing the square.] The square — the square — 
what's become o' the square for Mistress White — ? 

Stella. 
[Soothingly, indicating Swift as reading.] S-h-h — . 

Dingley. 
Cud that thavin' beggar — Hah — the chickens — Swift 
gave him the chickens — [Fiercely, seizing Stella's arm.] 
Could the Dean — . 

Stella. 
But the Dean had naught to wrap them in — . 

Dingley. 
[Beginning to rock back and forth.] Oh, oh — a long 
month's work— a gift for Mistress White — . 

Stella. 
There — there. Swift shall pay you for't — . 

Dingley. 
[Shaking her fist at Swift.] Aye — that he shall! Pay 
dearly for't — . 

Swift. 
[Explosively, to himself.] Hah — what's this — what's 
this? Ah — the madmen — the fools — . What — do the 
Whigs DARE ! ! Oh — my poor England at the mercy 
o' her foes at last! [Sinking back into chair again read- 
ing.] 



26 DEAN SWIFT 

[A knock at door 1. Dingley opens it. Enter Charles 
Ford, aged 28. Scholarly-looking, richly but simply 
dressed, brown wig, brozvn knee-breeches and coat, 
brozvn silken stockings, silver buckled shoes. Doctor 
Delany follows. Aged forty, the chubby type, seeing the 
bright side of things always. Bubbling over with patriot- 
ism and bulls. With rolling rs and broad a's. In the simple 
black of the Dublin professional man. The reverse in 
every way of his prim, angular wife. Both men glance at 
Swift, decide not to disturb him yet, salute Stella, Ford 
with devotion. Dingley closes door and primly waits to 
be "spoken to." 

Ford. 

Mistress Stella — [Nodding to Dingley, who smiles 
slightly.] 

Stella. 

[Giving her hand to each, radiantly.] Charles — Dr. De- 
lany — ? 

Delany. 

Fairest flower o' the morning — [Nodding toward Ding- 
ley with the corners of his mouth drawn down.] Wi' the 
gentlest o' guardians — . 

Dingley. 

[Coming forward.] Chut — pish — bah — [Delany and 
Dingley cross at the same time thus necessitating a sort 
of war-dance. Delany with deprecating smile, Dingley 
with a snort of disdain. Exit Dingley door 3.] 

Ford. 

[Joining Swift, familiar, yet reverential.] Morning, 
Mister Dean — . 



DEAN SWIFT 27 

Swift. 
[Rising and thrusting newspaper into his hand, ignor- 
ing Delany's humble salute. Delany smiles, joins 
Stella at right.] Read that bit o' news. 

Ford. 

[Reading without enthusiasm.] Yes — for the Tories 
it's bad news indeed — . 

Swift. 

The worst — the very worst. This useless war continues 
year after year — Marlbro is still the "worshipped Gen- 
eral" — winning useless victories — recklessly spilling 
precious blood — piling expenses on wretched England that 
mean enormous profits for his friends — expenses that 
come back to his own greedy pocket in streams of gold — . 

Ford. 
Can it be possible that General Marlbro — . 

SwiFt. 
Knows as well as I do that this war is useless — that 
all his victories are barren ones, netting his country noth- 
ing, except that it adds to his own glory — . God of 
heaven — where will this useless waste of blood and money 
lead? 

Ford. 
But why doesn't the Tory ministry — . 

Swift. 
Because the Tories are at each other's throats — . Boling- 
broke quarrelling with Lord Treasurer — . Oh — my coun- 
try—my distracted country — . 

Delany. 
Tut-tut, Mister Dean. So long's 'tis not Erin that suf- 
fers, since she's never a farthing with which to bless her- 



28 BE AN SWIF T 

self — [Pose of orator.] Erin — wi' its green fields — its 
flowery dales — its lovely lakes — . 

Swift. 
Bah ! Erin ! A God-forsaken land — a bog-hole — a sink 
o' despair — its hills and dales dotted with the sod huts of 
its wretched peasantry — . 

Delany. 
Aye-aye, Mister Dean — But — your country just the 
same — . 

Swift. 
True — true — Delany. Worse luck for Jonothan 
Swift—. 

Ford. 
[Putting newspaper on table.] They miss your hand 
at the helm, sir. 

Swift. 
Pah-pah — . 

Delany. 
And they'll be wantin' our great Dean back again — 
Ha ha — . 

Stella. 
Then they'll wish in vain, for the Dean has had enough 
of their "promises." 

Swift. 
Nay — Stella, the breaking o' those promises was not 
Lord Treasurer's fault — . 

Delany. 
What, sir — ye can forgive them, though they cheated ye 
out of a Bishop's gown ! ! ! 

Ford. 
[Warningly.] Delany — [Indicating Swift's moody 
look.] 



DE AN SWIF T 29 

Swift. 
[To himself.] A bishop's gown — a bishop's gown — . 

Delany. 

[To cheer Swift.] But away wi' politics this fine 
morning. So long's there's a bottle in the Deanery cel- 
lars — eh, Mister Dean? 

Swift. 

[Dismissing moodiness and rising.] Ah, Delany — 
would that I were as light of heart as thou — . 

Delany. 
Faith, sir, 'tis easy. Ye've only to be half English — 
and wholely Irish — [Leading the way to door 2 which he 
opens for Swift as for a king.] 

Swift. 
Ford — ? [Exits door 2 followed by Delany.] 

Ford. 
[Saluting Stella.] Mistress Stella — . 

Stella. 

[Smiling,] Charles — [Ford salutes, backs through 
door 2. The voices of the men begin to be heard in ar- 
gument.] 

Dingley. 

[Enters door 3. Looks round, listens at door 2 a 
moment, then comes down.] Listen to 'em — 'tis as usual 
about politics — . Hah — Swift's body may be here in 
Dublin — but his soul's in England — wi' his Bolingbrokes 
an' Oxfords — and did his Tory friends send for him — 
Swift'd cross the channel again — . 

Stella. 
Nay, Dingley — you are wrong — . 



30 BE AN 8WIF T 

DlNGLEY. 

Ye are sure o' that, child? 

Stella. 
Yes — sure — sure! For why should the Dean return — . 

Dingley. 
Why shud he — WHY? [Taking letter from pocket 
and holding it up.] For the best o' reasons — Mistress 
White tells me that Swift's Lunnun charmer is pinin' for 
him — [Reading from letter.] " Tis reported that Mis- 
tress Esther Van Homrigh is no longer present when her 
mamma dispenses coffee to her Tory guests — " And here 
again, " 'Tis well-known that a certain lovely young Miss 
is pinin' for a sight o' the great — the world-famous 
Dean — ." 

Stella. 
[Who listens with repressed agitation.] Stop — Ding- 
ley — stop — . 

Dingley. 
[Reading.] "And 'tis reported that the young lady may 
yet cross the channel to visit the Dean at the Irish 
capitol — " 

Stella. 
[Tearfully.] I tell you I'll not listen — . 

Dingley. 
[Placing letter on table with look of pity.] Then, child, 
read for yourself — [Backing to door 3. Exits.] 

Stella. 
No — no — I'll not read it — I — I dare not — [Taking up 
letter.] Yet — if it be the truth — [Reads letter. Dingley 
softly enters, waiting at door 3. With a cry of grief, 
covering her eyes.] 



BE AN SWIF T 31 

DlNGLEY. 

[Running to her, with deep pity.] My poor Stella — my 
darling Stella — [Opening her arms.] 

Stella 
Go away, Dingley — go— leave me — . 

DlNGLEY. 

But — if I want to help you bear your sorrow — [Ford 
enters from door 2. Dingley snatches letter, quickly 
exits door 3. Stella mops her eyes hastily.] 

Ford. 

[Coming down quickly.] Mistress Stella — this London 
news — it may enkindle Swift's desire to help his Tory 
friends — to rush to their aid — to cross the channel again — 
We — his friends must prevent — Ah — you also fear that — . 

Stella. 

Nay — Swift will not return — Tis something else that 
grieves me—. 

Ford. 

But — good God — there are tears in your eyes — [Taking 
her hand.] Tell me— I implore you — . Mistress Stella — 
I live only to serve you — . 

Stella. 
'Tis that a woman awaits Swift's return to London — . 

Ford. 

A woman? Hah, if that be all—. Ah — there's but one 
woman on earth for Jonothan Swift and — [kissing her 
hand] that woman is yourself ! 



32 DEAN SWIFT 

Swift. 
[Hurrying through door 2 followed by Delany.] I 
tell you, Delany, 'twould be a coward's part to desert his 
friends in time of need — and if ever England needed a 
word of advice — 'tis now! [Throwing himself into his 
chair, drawing forward pen and paper and beginning to 
write rapidly.] 

Delany. 
Aye — Mister Dane — a word of advice only. Provided 
ye won't think o' crossing the channel to aid 'em — . 

Swift. 

Never — Delany — never — I shall never return. But my 
pen is at their service always — [Delany, Ford and 
Stella group off to right, talking softly and watching 
Swift. Finally sanding the sheet.] There — a word 
to those quarrelling Tories — a word that, if taken, will 
surely outwit Marlbro and his profiteering friends and 
hasten the end of this iniquitous war — . Come hither, 
Delany — there's no time to waste — . 

Delany. 

[Joining him, unwillingly, his hands behind him.] But, 
Mister Dean — . 

Swift. 

[Impatiently, flicking the page across the table.] To the 
printers — to the printers — have 'em strike of! a thousand 
sheets— say that the Dean demands instant service — . 

Delany. 
But — sir — . 

Swift. 
Say that all's to cross the channel at the next sailing — . 
Hurry — man — hurry — a thousand lives may depend on 



DEAN SWIFT 33 

this page's printing. Even the Queen — those cursed Whigs 
— those fools of Tories — all will read it. 

Delany. 
But — if it benefit not poor Erin — . 

Swift. 
[Impatiently.'] Erin — and ever Erin! Man — man — 
get thyself a wider charity — . 

[Door 1 opens. Erasmus Lewis, dapper, keen-eyed, 
suave court politician, in red wig, travelling dress, depre- 
cating smile, enters after a loud knock. Swift, frown- 
ing at interruption, turns. His face beams, he hurries to 
Lewis, seizes his hands and draws him down.] Lewis 
— LEWIS — ah — 'tis good to see an English face again — 
by what good fortune — . 

Lewis. 
Ah — Swift — King of Tories — . 

Swift. 
[With repressed emotion.] When did you arrive? 

Lewis. 
But an hour since — . My ship's at anchor in the bay — . 

Swift. 
Where it shall remain for yet awhile, eh? 

Lewis. 
Ha ha — well, Swift, that depends on yourself — . 

Swift. 
On me? Then 'tis settled. [Bringing Lewis down.] 
Lewis, this is my ward — Mistress Stella Johnson — [Lewis 
bows.] Stella, you see before you Erasmus Lewis, the 
wiliest of politicians — . 



34 DE AN SWIFT 

Lewis. 
Ha ha, Swift — . 

Swift. 
And the faithfulest of friends — . 

Stella. 
Any friend of the Dean's is welcome to his deanery — . 

Lewis. 
[Kissing her hand, with a sly look at Ford.] Thanks. 
Mistress Johnson's charms hath oft been told me by — 
Ah, Ford—. 

Ford. 
[Smiling and giving his hand.] Ah, Lewis — so far 
from home and from those wires you so love to pull — . 

Lewis. 
Ah — but in the service of my friends only. Eh, Swift? 

Swift. 
Always. Lewis, this is Doctor Delany — Patriot — 
philosopher — yes — and orator — . 

Delany. 
[Abashed.] Aha — forbear, sir Dean — forebear — . 

Swift. 
Doctor, this is Erasmus Lewis, Under-Secretary of 
State in the Tory Ministry — . 

Delany. 
Of the Tory ministry ? [Withdrawing his extended 
hand.] 

Lewis. 
Doctor, the pleasure's mine — Patriot — philosopher and 
orator — . 



DEAN SWIFT 35 

Delany. 

[Meaningly.] Faith, Mister Secretary for the Tory 
ministry — 'tis a f-a-r cry from London to little Dublin — . 

Lewis. 
Pooh, Doctor — what's a long journey — in a good cause? 

Delany. 
[His fears confirmed.] Good God — [Swift takes 
Lewis' cloak and hat to mantel-shelf. Stella and Ford 
join Dela,ny off to right, watching Swift and Lewis 
with worried looks.] 

Swift. 
Lewis, I'd begun to think that my London friends had 
all deserted me — Not a letter — not a single line — In three 
short months I've been forgotten — . 

Lewis. 
Forgotten? Why, Swift, there are those that think of 
you daily — hourly — Bolingbroke — Oxford — . 

Swift. 
Aye — 'tis reported they're at each other's throats — . 

Lewis. 
God's pity, too — . When so much hangs on a pull al- 
together — . Forgotten you? When a thousand Tories 
mourn your absence — when even Her Majesty, the 
Queen — . 

Swift. 
Pooh, the Queen — ! 

Lewis. 

Also her Grace of Marlbro — who's made up her quarrel 
with the Court — . 



36 DEAN SWIFT 

Swift. 
Aye — to strengthen her "General's" hands in the con- 
tinuing of this useless war — . 

Lewis. 
Exactly. And unless all signs fail — . 

Delany. 
Looke, Lewis, can a Queen be dominated by a mere 
Duchess ? 

Lewis. 
Ah, Doctor — you don't know her Grace — . She's the 
rock in the Tory road to success — the nightmare that rides 
each Tory's dreams — . Eh, Swift? 

Swift. 
[Dismissing signs of interest.] Bah, Lewis — what eare 
I for such news? Since I'm forever out o' politics — ? 

Lewis. 
Out of politics? Heavens — Swift — I'll not believe — . 
No — that cannot be — [With dismay.] 

Swift. 
Ha ha — you'll soon get used to the thought — [Abruptly 
turning away and joining those at right.] 

Lewis. 

[Biting his nails and sinking into Swift's chair. After 
a moment.] One moment, Swift — . 

Swift. 
[Over his shoulder.] Well, Lewis? 

Lewis. 
You've surely guessed why I've crossed the channel — 
why I am here in Dublin? 

Swift. 
Guessed? Pooh — why should I? 



BE AN SWIF T 37 

Lewis. 
Er — . I had hoped — I had hoped — to have laid a cer- 
tain matter of business before you — er — in private. 

Swift. 
But — ha ha — since I've no secrets from these — my 
friends — . 

Lewis. 
I accept the challenge. Well then, my business is — 
England's ministry has sent me hither to demand — to im- 
plore that Jonothan Swift return to his place at the helm 
of state — . 

Swift. 
[With savage joy.] So! The storm's overtaken them 
and they want "the Irish parson" to pull them out again? 
Nay, Lewis, nay. Here I remain wi' those that love me ! 
[His arm about Stella's shoulder. Ford takes Delany 
to left.} 

Delany. 
[Pose of orator.] Ah, Mister Secretary — I'd have ye 
know that the Dean hath a nobler work at home — * His 
wretched country — groanin' under laws that have made 
slaves o' half of us — exiled the other half and ruined those 
that's left — [Applause from all. He would resume 
but — .] 

Lewis. 
[Rising, animated.] Bravo — doctor — encora — encora — . 
Sentiments sublime — but — they don't affect the tide — it 
turns in an hour and my ship must be away — [Getting hat 
and cloak, then offering his hand to Swift.] So it must 
be goodbye. 

Swift. 
Goodbye? Nay, Lewis. So long a voyage — so brief a 
visit — . 

Lewis. 
[Meaningly, yet gayly.] The fault's not mine, sir. 



38 DEAN SWIFT 

Swift. 
You can at least break bread with us — [Taking away 
hat and cloak and giving them to Ford who again hangs 
them on pegs under shelf.] 

Lewis. 
[Pretending reluctance.] But — affairs of state — . 

Swift. 
Pooh — Let 'em wait. The deanery cellars be not all 
empty — . 

Lewis. 
Well — what's an hour more or less? I agree. 

Swift. 
Ah! Then Mistress Stella — [Joining Stella and tak- 
ing her to right, where, near the flower-stand he whispers, 
at the same time plucking a blossom and giving it to her.] 

Lewis. 
[To Delany and Ford. Bitterly.] And to think that 
a mere petticoat stands between England and salvation ! 

Ford. 
But — since "the petticoat" and Swift's happiness — . 

Lewis. 
Pshaw ! Swift's earthly flight — like the eagle's — should 
be to soar alone. His destiny should be the world's 
arena — where his genius belongs! 

Delany. 
But, Mister Secretary — what about Swift's genius to 
help poor Erin? 

Lewis. 
What! You'd smother him in an Irish bog when Eng- 
land's salvation hangs upon him! [His eye suddenly 
falling on the written page before him.] 



DEAN SWIFT 39 

Delany. 
Hah — the bishop's gown ye cheated him out of ? Nay — 
nay — the Dean's not to be cheated twice — [Exit Stella 
door 3. Swift comes to centre.] 

Lewis. 
[Staring at page.] Hah — what's this — what's this? 

Swift. 
Written by me an hour since — ? 

Lewis. 
But — it's addressed to all England — . 

Swift. 
[Grimly.] Including my foolish friends, the Tories — . 

Ford. 
[Saluting.] Swift — [who returns it.] Lewis — [who 
returns it, still intently reading page. Ford moves to door 

i] 

Delany. 
[Saluting.] Swift — [who now intently watches Lewis 
and ignores Delany, who smiles, shrugs.] Mister Sec- 
retary — better luck next time — . 

Lewis. 
Doctor — [Exit Ford and Delany. Throwing down 
the page with a shrug.] Good enough argument, Swift, 
but — humph — . 

Swift. 
[Seising the page and reading it.] What's wrong here, 
Lewis? I've covered the ground — pointed out the best 
means of — . 

Lewis. 
Yes — yes — But — . 



40 DEAN SWIFT 

Swift. 
Then where's the weak point? 

Lewis. 
Where? WHERE? Tis because 'tis written on Irish 
soil — . But let Swift thunder it from the floor of the 
English Parliament — . 

Swift. 
[After a moment, discarding the page. With finality.] 
No, Lewis — no. Eternally no! 

Lewis. 
Swift — a last appeal — . With the ministry at each 
other's throats — with our treasury empty — . 

Swift. 
[With fierce joy.] Aha — I foresaw it — ! 

Lewis. 
With the Queen distracted — . 

Swift. 

Bah — . She's always hated me — ! 

Lewis. 

Swift — for England's sake — for God's sake return with 
me — . 

Swift. 

Return with you? For what reward? An Irish dean- 
ery? 

Lewis. 

Ah — but then 'twas the best in the Tory gift — . 



DEAN SWIFT 41 

Swift. 

[With rising fury.] A deanery in wretched Dublin — 
where the very air reeks of misery — where man is a chat- 
tel — ruled wi' a whip — refused the right to happiness — 
aye — even to choose his own way to salvation — . No — 
no — I'll not return. 

Lewis. 

So — . This is the message that I'm to carry back to 
your friends? 

Swift. 

Friends, eh? Men who'll use you — . Then — when 
they've no further use for you — fling you out an Irish 
deanery as they'd toss a stick into the sea for a dog — 
"Hi — swim for it and be damned to ye" — [Falling ex- 
hausted into chair.] 

Lewis. 

But, sir, 'tis the privilege of the great to forget — to 
forgive — . 

Swift. 
No — no — . I can't forget — I can't forgive — [Single 
boom of cannon.] Hah — what's that? 

Lewis. 

The signal from my ship — [Getting cloak and hat from 
pegs.] The tide has turned — . I must begone — [Offer- 
ing hand to Swift.] 

Swift. 
[Rising, agitatedly, taking the hand.] So soon, Lewis? 
Without breaking bread wi' me? 

Lewis. 
[Brokenly.] Bread that would choke me — since my 
mission's failed — Ah, sir — to leave you here — exiled — in 



42 DE AN 8WIF T 

what you believe is a land of slaves — your genius 
blighted — . Ah, sir — [Rushing to door 1 and out. Door 
closed.] 

Swift. 

[Staring after him, falling into chair.] "Exiled in a 
land of slaves." God — oh God — [Covering his face. 
Lewis softly opens door, peers in with satisfied look, as 
softly closes door. After a moment a loud knock. Swift 
instantly recovers.] 

Lewis. 
[Enters with smile and letter in hand.] Gad, sir, had 
near forgotten Lord Treasurer's letter — [Swift snatches 
it imperiously, tears it open and reads eagerly. Lewis 
watches with hope. Swift breathes deeply, the letter fin- 
ished, ponders.] May I be permitted? [Swift gives letter 
to Lewis who reads with pretended amaze.] Why, sir, 'tis 
the promise of Canterbury — A promise over Lord Treas- 
urer's own signature. Canterbury!! Heavens, Swift, you 
can't refuse NOW ! What ! Bury yourself in Dublin 
when — for the reaching for it you can become Archbishop 
of Canterbury — . 

Swift. 
Bah — . Why waste time and words? I'll none of it — 
None of it ! 

Lewis. 
Ah then — [With covered eyes, turning to door.] 

Swift. 

Wait — Lewis — wait. [Going to him, his hand on his 
shoulder.] Tell me, isn't just my wounded pride that re- 
fuses ? 



DEANSWIFT 43 

Lewis. 
I only know, sir, that my country needs you — that the 
Tory party is about to fall — perhaps never to rise again — . 
God, Swift — I can already hear those damnable Whigs 
even now shouting "victory" — Swift — Swift — . 

Swift. 
[Surrendering without enthusiasm.] Yes — yes — Tis 
my duty to return — 'Tis my duty — [Hurries to table, takes 
letters from drawer, divides, thrusting one pile back into 
drawer.] 

Lewis. 
Now God be thanked indeed — [Door 2 opens. Lewis, 
showing fear of interruption, turns quickly. Patrick 
enters, carrying a small tray, on which are two small 
glasses and flask of wine. Lewis gaily takes it from 
Patrick, puts tray on table, thrusts the pile of letters 
into Patrick's hands and gently pushes him to left. 
Swift now in a day-dream with frowning brow.] To the 
quay, man, to the quay — ..Ask for the good ship ''Orient." 
Hurry — hurry — [Exit Patrick with stolid look. Coming 
to table, filling both glasses, still fearing interruption. 
Pushing glass to Swift, who still dreams. Raising his 
own glass.] To Tory success — to victory — to Swift — to 
the gown of Canterbury — . 

Swift. 
[His hand finding the glass but not raising it. Dream- 
ily.] Canterbury — . 

Lewis. 
To Jonothan Swift — to History, that shall acclaim 
Jonothan Swift as England's greatest Primate! 

Swift. 
[As before.] Canterbury — [moving to right.] 

Lewis. 
[Gayly, intercepting.] Where away, sir? 



44 DEAN SWIFT 

Swift. 
[As before.] Why — to prepare to depart — . 

Lewis. 
Why, sir — your cabin's prepared — that is — Lord Treas- 
urer hoping — you understand — [Leading him to left as 
second boom of cannon is heard.] Hark, sir — we must 
be off — the tide is at flood, sir — [Snatching Swift's cloak 
and hat from pegs as he sees Stella enter, followed by 
Dingley bearing a larger tray covered by a white 
napkin from door 3.] 

Swift. 
[Turning and crossing with same dreamy look to 
Stella as Dingley puts tray on table. Taking Stella's 
hand.] Farewell, child — . I leave ye safe in Dingley's 
care — . 

Stella. 
[Clinging to his hand.] You — you are leaving Dublin — 
leaving me? 

Swift. 
[As before.] Yes — yes — 'tis duty calls — duty and 
Canterbury — [Another boom of cannon. Swift turns to 
Lewis.] 

Lewis. 
Come, Swift — we must be off — [Giving hat as to a con- 
quer er and throwing the cloak over Swift's shoulder. 
Swift mechanically exits door 1 without a backward 
look. Lewis salutes the two women with a radiant smile, 
exits, door 1 closed.] 

Stella. 
[With a bitter cry.] Swift— SWIFT— [Falls face 
down, into chair at table. Dingley stares with clenched 
hands at door 1 then draws Stella's head to her bosom 
with a look of pity.] 

End of the First Act. 



THE SECOND ACT 

Drawing-room of the Van Homrigh Home, London. 
A morning in July, three months later. 

A richly furnished room, garish in style, but attractive. 
The entrance door 1 is at left, a corridor leading off 
from it. To right of this door is a wide, open window 
giving a glimpse of street. To right of window is 
door 2 opening outward into what is supposed to be 
the coffee-room. Door 3 is down to the extreme right 
and also opens outward. All doors and the window 
are draped with silken hangings. At left is a round 
table. On it is a quaint box holding a pack of cards, 
a blue satin bon-bon box and a vase of flowers. At 
right-centre is an escritoire holding pens, ink, paper 
and a small red-covered book. Chairs set about. 
Flowers placed lavishly here and there. 

At Rise. Mrs. Van Homrigh, aged forty, sits at the 
table, a small mirror in hand, with which she is in- 
tently surveying the set of her "turban." Extrava- 
gantly dressed, curled brown wig, paint, powder and 
beauty-spots. Good-natured, superficial and ambitious 
only for her children. 



46 DEAN SWIFT 

Molly Van Homrich, aged twenty, a charming duplicate 
of her mother in extravagant dress, vivacious and 
saucy, sits at the harpischord strumming away noisily. 

Richard Hays, aged twenty-three, a handsome youth in 
the uniform of an English dragoon, paces along at 
right. Richard is quick-tempered yet manly. He bites 
his nails, tears a flower to pieces and tosses it away, 
keeping watch on door 3. 

Jeems, the privileged servant in livery, aged forty, stands 
at door 1, a small silver tray in hand on which are 
several slips of white paper. 

Molly. 
[With a final crash of keys. Jumping up, coming to 
table.] Pah — 'tis wearisome to play to a dull audience — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Thank heaven, Molly child, you've quit makin' a noise 
as'd wake the seven sleepers — . 

Molly. 
Mama dear, 'tis yourself has a poor ear for music. 
Where be the cards? I'll tell me own fortune — [taking 
cards from box, sitting at table opposite her mother and 
beginning to shuffle them.] 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
[Displaying turban.] Is't on straight, Molly child? 

Molly. 
Straight wi' the part o' your hair, mother. Ah — ye 
silly old woman — 'tis an eye for a second father for us 
you've gotten — . 



BE AN SW IF T 47 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
For shame, Molly — an' your dada only five years gone — 
'Tis not respectful to me ye are — . 

Molly. 
Why shud I be when ye look like a younger sister? 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
[Laughing.] Shame on ye, Molly — [admiring herself 
in mirror.] 

Molly. 
[Spreading out cards.] Come hither, cousin Richard 
and list to me readin' me fortune — . 

Richard. 
Pah — pah — let me be, Molly — [listening at door 3.] 

Molly. 
Oho — aha, cousin Richard — . 

Richard. 
Let be, I tell you — . 

Molly. 
But hanging round yonder door won't bring Esther in 
any the quicker — . 

Richard. 
I tell you I'm not waiting for Esther — I'm not. 

Molly. 
Then why are ye marchin' about ? To wear out mama's 
carpet ? 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Be quiet, Molly. Let the boy alone. 



48 DEAN SWIFT 

Jeems. 
Ahem—AHEM— . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Who is it, Molly child? 

Molly. 
Tis only Jeems, mother. 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Come hither, Jeems — [laying down mirror. Jeems 
comes to table, puts tray on same, salutes, backs to left, 
exits door 1. Scanning slips with dismay.] Bills — bills — 
ach one of 'em manin' a fortune gone from the spout o' 
a coffee-pot — My — oh my — . 

Molly. 
[Holding up cards.] Look, Richard, a dark man has 
me in mind — middle-aged, wi' a crown on his head — see — 
the king o' spades — . 

Richard. 
Stuff — pah — . 

Molly. 
Ah-h — Would it were a jack of hearts instead. Patience, 
cousin Richard, she'll soon appear — . 

Richard. 
[Angrily, leaving door for window.] Damnation — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
[Dismally.] Faith, we've used a power o' coffee 
lately — . Look, Molly, at these bills to pay — . 

Molly. 
'Tis proud ye shud be that such great men come here 
to drink your coffee—. Lord Treasurer Oxford, Boling- 
broke, little Lewis and the g-r-e-a-t genius o' the world, 
Dean Jonothan Swift. — Eh, Richard? 



DE AN SWIF T 49 

Richard. 
Swift? Pah — pah, I say — ! 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
A fortune gone — a fortune for just brown beans ! 

Molly. 
[Jumping up, runs round table, snatches tray.] Away 
wi' your bills — [Runs with same to escritoire, leaves them 
there, returns to table, sits, pushes over cards.] Cut the 
cards, mother, an' see if either o' your girls'll win a hus- 
band — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
[Tearfully, shuffling cards. ] Ye'll both be spinsters on 
my hands since neither o' ye'll take what's offered ye. 

Molly. 
O-oh — mama — 'deed — 'deed I'd marry a scarcrow had 
he a bag o' guineas and — a fine fat cough — As for my 
sister — . 

Richard. 
An' this be a tellin' o' Esther's secrets I'll not listen — 
[But listening intently.] 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
If Esther's wise she'll reach for the coronet that's 
waitin' for her when that ould harridan passes out. For 
'tis plain that her nephew adores your sister — . 

Molly. 
Ye mean young Lovelace? 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Aye — nephew to a duchess — . 

Molly. 
Lovelace, whom Swift calls a silly young ass — and 

worse — . 



50 DEAN SWIFT 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
[Sharply.] Let the Dean not concern himself about 
Hesses heart-affairs. Let him concern himself with his 
Tories an' his Whigs — . Where's Esther this mornin'? 

Molly. 
Studyin' French in her chamber — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
French ! 'Twas Latin the day before — . 'Twill be 
Greek tomorrow. Ah — would that Swift'd stop urging 
Essie to books. 'Tis no employment for a woman o' 
fashion — . 

Molly. 
But since Esther hates the powder an' despises the 
beauty-spots that you and I swear by — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Aye — that's true. What's gotten into the girl lately? 

Molly. 
What all London's aware of — that Esther is in love. 
Eh, Richard? 

Richard. 
Pooh — pooh — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
In love? And wi' who, Molly? 

Molly. 
Wi' the g-r-e-a-t genius of the world — Dean Jonothan 
Swift—. 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
In love wi' Swift ! ! ! A mere parson — . When she 
can choose from half a dozen o' his betters? My — oh 
my — [weepingly.] 



DE AN SWIF T 51 

Molly. 
[Running to embrace her.] There, mother, there! 
Weep not — 'tis a love as one-sided as the handle o' a 
pitcher, for Swift dreams not o' Hesses passion for him — . 

Richard. 
Then why does he write poems to her in his newspaper ? 
Where is the thing? [Fumbling over things at escretoire.] 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Poems — to my daughter Esther? Ah-h 'twill set all 
Lunnun talking! 

Richard. 
Aye, aunt, they're talking now. [Finding a slip of paper 
in red-covered book.] Esther's cut the thing from the 
printed page and hidden it here in this book. Listen — . 

Molly. 
[Snatching poem from Richard and reading it ex- 
pressively, with sly glances at Richard.] 

Would from her height of youth and beauty 
Stoop low to weary pilgrim's hand 
My lady fair? For wifely duty 
Leave all this world can give, 
At my command? 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
"For wifely duty!" Good God — 'tis a declaration of 
love! ! [Weeping into her handkerchief.] 

Molly. 
[Replacing slip into book, putting book on escritoire. 
Gayly.] Nay, mother — 'tis just — poetry! 

Richard. 
[Savagely.] Poetry? Bah — 'tis trash! 



52 DEAN SWIFT 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Ah — would that the Dean had remained in Dublin! 

Molly. 
What, mother! Would you have lost to England the 
Dean's wonderful services? Swift — that has made the 
Queen end the war — that has already compelled her to 
recall her "great general" an' put a stop to his robbing 
England's treasury? 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Aye — that I would, since Esther — . 

Molly. 
Sh-h-h— 

[Enter Esther Van Homrigh at door 3. She is lovely, 
richly but simply dressed, wearing neither powder, paint 
nor beauty-spots. At the age of twenty-two, her carriage 
and self-possession is in striking contrast to that of the 
two other women. Richard devotedly places a chair and 
footrest. With a mere nod of thanks Esther sinks into 
chair, her hand reaching for the red-covered book, which 
she opens and reads. Richard signals this to Molly, 
who shrugs.] 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Well, Esther, is't Greek or Latin this mornin'? 

Esther. 

[Not looking from page.} Tis neither, mother. Tis a 
recipe for making puddings without plums — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 

[Eagerly.] Puddin's wi'out plums — [Coming down.] 
Show me the line, child? 



DEAN SWIFT 53 

Esther. 
[Pressing the page to her bosom quickly.] No — no — I 
cannot — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
'Tis not there? Then let me telle that recipes for 
puddin's be better readin' than studyin' Greek wi' a 
gown o' forty- four — ! Faith, I'll give Swift a bit o' my 
mind when he calls this mornin' — [Esther resumes 
reading.] 

Molly. 

When ye know, mother, that you'll be like the rest of 
us — listenin' and adorin' his wonderful genius — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 

'Deed an' I'll tell him he's no business to waste Hesses 
time wi' Greek an' Latin when she might be at the play 
an' the dance — . 

Esther. 
The play — ! The dance! I leave such silly pleasures 
for fools! 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 

[Crossing to Esther threateningly.] This — to my face? 
When your sister an' myself — . 

Molly. 

[Snatching up tray with bills and running to her 
mother.] Come away, mama — Let's leave Hess to her 
puddin's without plums — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 

[Going with Molly to right.] Aye — an J to her poem — 
ha ha — [Exit both to door 3.] 



54 DE AN SWIFT 

Richard. 
[Hovering behind Esther, summoning courage to ad- 
vance. Finally going to behind her chair.] Ahem — 
[Esther takes no notice.] Ahem — I say, Cousin 
Esther — . 

Esther. 
[Reading.] Are you still there, Richard? 

Richard. 
Am I not always near when you condescend to appear? 
Ah, would that I too were a page o' print — . 

Esther. 
[Reading, but reaching a hand.] No — no — Cousin — . 
When I like you as you are. 

Richard. 
Ah — if you'd only prove that! — [Kissing her hand 
ardently.] Esther — [dropping on one knee.] I offer you 
a life's devotion — . 

Esther. 
[Impatiently. Withdrawing her hand.] Richard ! After 
all your promises — . 

Richard. 
But what's a "promise" when every fibre o' my being's 
calling for you ? Esther — Esther — . 

Esther. 
Silly boy ! Why not learn dignity — . 

Richard. 
[Jumping up.] "Dignity!" I leave that for your par- 
son — 'tis his stock in trade ! 

Esther. 
[Rising with scorn.] Thou jealous creature — ! To in- 
sult the Dean behind his back — ! 



DE AN SWIF T 55 

Richard. 
Bah — I'll say it to his face if ye dare me to! 

Esther. 
[Pointing to door 1.] Go, sir — go — ! 

Richard. 
[In boyish fury flinging himself to left.] Hah — so ye 
can waste time on Swift's poem ! ! ! [Running out at 
door 1.] 

Esther. 
Swift's poem — and to me! Ah — [Reading poem with 
sweet emotion.] 

Would from her height of youth and beauty 
Stoop low to weary pilgrim's hand 
My lady fair? For wifely duty 
Leave all this world can give, 
At my command? 

"For wifely duty." "Leave all this world can give — " 
Ah — I could — I would — . Ah — he loves me — he loves 
me — [Pressing poem to lips as Jeems enters door 1.] 

Jeems. 
Ahem — Mistress Esther — . 

Esther. 
[Hiding the poem in bosom.] Yes, Jeems? [Throw- 
ing book on escritoire.] 

Jeems. 

A coach and four at the door — My Lord Lovelace 
and — . 

Esther. 

[Running to right.] Lovelace! No — no — Jeems — I'll 
not see him — [exits door 3. Jeems returns to door 1.] 



56 DEAN SWIFT 

[Enter the Duchess of Marlbro, almost walking over 
Jeems who backs, bowing to centre. The Duchess, aged 
forty-five, is extravagantly dressed, powdered and painted. 
Insolent manner, cackling laugh. Lord Lovelace follows 
with eager look about him. Pozvdered wig, short sword, 
laces, satins, an egotistical fop, aged twenty-eight. The 
Duchess backs Jeems to centre while Lovelace perches 
himself on table as if at home and begins to eat the bon- 
bons from the box there. A tall Indian servant of the 
Duchess remains stolidly at door 1. Indian dress, white 
turban, brilliant -colored silken sash, a dagger thrust 
through same. Being mute, he takes his mistress' orders 
by signs and replies with the same.] 

Duchess. 
Well, my man — 'tis bad manners to stare at your 
betters — . 

Lovelace. 
[Laughing.] Lor, Aunt — . 

Duchess. 
Where are those ye serve? Bid 'em be aware that her 
Grace o' Marlbro is here — [Jeems bows, backing out at 
door 3. Duchess begins to feel the draperies.] 

Lovelace. 
Aunt — I'll thank ye to be gentler wi' the servants o' 
this house — . 

Duchess. 
Pooh! Why shud I be? 

Lovelace. 
Because the mistress here has always made me wel- 
come — . 



DE AN SWIF T 57 

Duchess. 
Heir to a dukedom? The creature's wise. 

Lovelace. 
And because I adore her lovely daughter. So that 
even a servant — . 

Duchess. 
Pooh ! I'd ha' honored the man had I tweaked his nose. 
'Fore God — these draperies be of finest silk an' there be 
flowers eno' here to supply me wi' bouquets for 
a f or'night ! These commoners be rich — . 

Lovelace. 
Yes. Old Van Homrigh had a coffee plantation in 
Sumatra or was it Java ? Then, when he flickered out, his 
widow brought her two fair daughters to settle here in 
London. Mistress Esther's the best-educated girl in Eng- 
land. Speaks Latin an' Greek an' French. Think what a 
help she'll be to me at the Embassy? 

Duchess. 
Humph! An' where did the young jade learn all that? 

Lovelace. 
[Evasively.] Er — from books, of course. 

Duchess. 
[Startled, coming down quickly.] Looke, nephew, if 
this girl's the wondrous pupil o' the Dean — . 

Lovelace. 
Well — an' if she is? 

Duchess. 
[Looking about her.] Hah — this must be the very room 
where Swift penned his damnable pamphlets that spoiled 
Marlbro's plans an' cut off the stream o' gold just ready 



58 BE AN SWIFT 

to reach his hands — that made the Queen stop the war an* 
call back her army. 'Fore God — it must ha' been here 
that Swift an' his Tories plotted to lose me the Gold Key — 
access to her Majesty's bed-chamber — [Turning quickly.] 
No — no — I'll none o' your love affairs — I wash my hands 
o' them — . 

Lovelace. 
Go then — an' be damned to ye ! 

Duchess. 
[Looking back.] Then ye mean to marry the girl? 

Lovelace. 
If I can get her in no other way — yes. 

Duchess. 
[Coming down, in tearful fury.] Then I'll cut ye off 
wi' a shillin' — 

Lovelace. 
Pooh! Since you've just paid all my debts — . 

Duchess. 
Aye — jeweled garters for married jade — necklaces for 
court hussies — Ah-ah — . 

Lovelace. 
[Going to her. Soothingly.] Help me to France with 
this girl an' you're rid o' me for six months — . 

Duchess. 
But — she's a friend o' the Dean — I dare not — . 

Lovelace. 
Pooh! A mere parson! 



DE AN SWIF T 59 

Duchess. 
Hah — ye've never seen Swift in a fury — . Ah — Jove 
an' his thunderbolt's naught to him — [Going again.] 
No — no — I dare not — . 

Lovelace. 
[Seizing her hand and indicating those at right.] Aunt! 
[Molly enters, half -sup porting her mother who, already 
overwhelmed by the Duchess' visit is beginning to 
curtesy.] 

Molly. 
Lud, mama — she's only a woman — just as you and I — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
But — child — a Duchess ! ! ! [Both coming forward.] 

Lovelace. 
[Bringing the Duchess down.] Ladies — the dearest 
o' aunts — her Grace o' Marlbro — Aunt — the ladies Van 
Homrigh — . 

Molly. 
[Saluting gayly.] Your Grace — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
[Overwhelmed again. Saluting.] Your Grace honors 
this house — . 

Duchess. 
[Ignoring her and appraising Molly.] So, nephew — . 
This be your flame — . 

Molly. 
Ha ha — no — your Grace — . 

Lovelace. 
[Saluting Molly.] If 'twere not for her sister — 
[Molly drops a saucy curtesy.] 



60 DEAN SWIFT 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Your Grace means my daughter, Esther — . 

Duchess. 

[Insolently.] My good woman, speak when spoken to. 
[Molly seises her mother's hand and turns as if to lead 
her out.] 

Lovelace. 

[Preventing.] Ladies, pardon my aunt's bad temper. 
But she's just lost some thousand o' pounds — . 

Duchess. 
Aye — payin' the debts o' a rascally nephew — . 

Lovelace. 
[Quickly, saluting Mrs. Van Homrigh.] Her Grace 
is here this morning to ask for your daughter Esther's 
hand as my wife. 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
My daughter's hand in marriage — [overwhelmed 
again.] 

Lovelace. 
Yes — Yes — for I love — adore her — [Esther enters 
door 3. Lovelace salutes her, standing with his hand 
on his heart.] 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Oh, your lordship — 'tis a great honor — [Seeing Esther 
and hurrying to her.] Child — child — here's the best offer 
o' all — Thy fortune's made — your chance for a crownet — 
[bringing Esther down.] 

Lovelace. 
Mistress Esther — ! 

Esther. 
[Coldly.] Your lordship — ! 



DEAN SWIFT 61 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
This, your Grace, is my daughter Esther — who speaks 
the Latin, the Greek an' the French — . 

Duchess. 
[Walking over Mrs. Van Homrigh to appraise 
Esther.] So — Lovelace, this is the wondrous creature — . 

Lovelace. 
The fairest girl in England, Aunt, nay, in all the uni- 
verse — . 

Duchess. 

Good enough form, fair enough face — . 

Esther. 
[Resenting the appraisal. Haughtily.'] Your Grace — . 

Duchess. 
And as haughty a mien as the parson's own. No pow- 
der nor beauty-spots? The parson forbids 'em, eh? 

Esther. 
If your Grace refers to Dean Jonothan Swift — ! 

Duchess. 
Aye — none other — him as'd be bishop o' Canterbury — 
ha ha — but for a certain Duchess — [Esther moves away 
with haughty look. Aside to Lovelace.] Lookee, 
nephew, it pleases me, after all, to help you humble yonder 
haughty minx — . 

Lovelace. 
Thanks, aunt — . 

Duchess. 
[To Mrs. Van Homrigh.] Listen, my good woman. 
My nephew there is to cross to France tomorrow. But 
wishes not to go alone. So, if your daughter will accept 
his offer — . 



62 DEAN SWIFT 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Aye, she shall, an' wi' thanks to your Grace — [Duchess 

insolently turns again to appraise hangings. Mrs. Van 
Homrigh joins Molly at harpischord.] 

Lovelace. 
[Going to Esther. Ardently.] Mistress Esther — I 
adore you — . I can't live without you — . 

Esther. 
Yet it is but ten days since we met — . 

Lovelace. 
But 'twas love at first sight. Say that you'll go to 
France wi' me — . 

Esther. 
No — no — I must refuse. 

Lovelace. 
Hah — then you love another? 

Esther. 
I do not care to leave England — . 

Lovelace. 
But I'll not take "no" for an answer — [seising her 
hand.] 

Esther. 
It must be "no." [Breaking from him and leaving her 
handkerchief in his hand, moving down right.] 

Lovelace. 
[To Mrs. Van Homrigh at centre.] If you'll speak 
a good word for me — ? 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Oh, your good lordship — 'twill be a dozen words. 



BE AN SW IF T 63 

Duchess. 
[Impatiently.] Well, nephew, well — ? 

Lovelace. 
Patience, Aunt, patience — . 

Duchess. 
Bah — let her take ye or leave ye — [Exits door 1 quickly, 
followed by her servant.} 

Lovelace. 
[To Mrs. Van Homrigh.] I'll return for her answer 
in an hour. 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Your good lordship — 'twill be "y es -" 

Lovelace. 
[Kissing her hand.] Ah-h — Mistress Molly — . 

Molly. 
Your lordship — [curt ey sing, Lovelace kisses her hand. 
Richard enters door 1 pauses there, taking in the scene. 
Lovelace sees him, purposely waves Esther's handker- 
chief toward her, kisses it as he nears Richard.] 

Richard. 

[Meeting him at left.] That handkerchief — ? 

Lovelace. 
[Again pressing it to his lips with smile to Esther.] 
'Tis a gift from your fair cousin — . 

Richard. 
You lie — [reaching for and getting handkerchief.] You 
stole it — . 

Lovelace. 
[Hand on sword.] Give it back to me — . 



64 d e an sw if t 

Richard. 
[Holding up handkerchief, hand on sword.] Come and 
take it — if you dare! 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
RICHARD — ! [Clinging to his arm.] 

Richard. 
Leave go, aunt — [To Lovelace.] Well, sir — ? 

Lovelace. 
I fight wi' equals only — [hurrying to door 1.] 

Richard. 
Equals, eh? Ha ha — [Lovelace hurries out door 1.] 
I'll see the whelp off the premises — [going through door 1 
on the run.] 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Oh — oh — for Richard to insult — the heir to a crow- 
net — . 

Molly. 
But isn't Dick the young divil? An' his lordship IS 
a whelp — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
His lordship's offered his hand and his fortune to your 
sister. So Richard's sharp tongue nor Esther's obstinacy 
shall interfere not one whit wi' what's best for my child's 
future — . 

Esther. 
[Agitatedly.] No, mother — I'll not accept. My body 
is my own — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
The body that I gave ye ! An' never think that I'll let 
ye refuse this splendid offer. To be "her Grace" when 



DEAN SWIFT 65 

that harridan dies — to be welcome to Court — . So, 'tis 
settled. An' when his lordship returns — . 

Esther. 
[Pleadingly.] Mother — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Be silent, Miss. Years hence ye'll thank me for makin' 
a Duchess of ye — Molly, wasn't it tomorrow that the ould 
harridan said his lordship was to cross to France? 

Molly. 
Yes, mother, tomorrow. 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 

Then while I look o'er Hesses wardrobe, do you, Molly, 
make her see what's best for her — [exits door 3.] 

Esther. 
Ah — [sinking at table with tears.] Molly — Molly — 
was ever a poor girl so beset — . 

Molly. 
But, Hessie — it IS a splendid offer and not one girl in 
ten thousand'd refuse it. A coronet — to be "her Grace" at 
some future day — . 

Esther. 
But I despise the man — My soul revolts at the thought 
of — [covering her eyes.] 

Molly. 
You've refused ten good offers in as many months — . 

Esther. 
Because I cared for — not one of them. 



66 DE AN SWIF T 

Molly. 
[Going to her, tenderly.] Hess — is't because you care 
for someone else? [Esther rises and moves away agi- 
tatedly.] Tell me, Esther — . 

Esther. 
Ah — don't ask me, Molly — don't ask me — [throwing 
herself down again at table with covered eyes.] 

Molly. 
[Going to her, taking down her hands.] Tell me, Hess, 
isn't it the Dean that you love? 

Esther. 
[Agitatedly, after a moment.] Yes — Molly — yes. 

Molly. 
But — does the Dean love you? 

Esther. 
[Wildly.] I know not — I only know that I've given to 
him my heart — my soul — . 

Molly. 
Ah — poor Esther — I'm afriad 'tis a waste o' affection — . 
You have no chance — . 

Esther. 
[Startled.] You mean that some other woman — . 

Molly. 
I mean that Swift thinks naught but of Tory politics 
and the getting of the gown o' Canterbury — . 

Esther. 
No — no — I'm sure you're wrong. 



DEAN SWIFT 67 

Molly. 
But has the Dean ever said that he loved you ? 

Esther. 
But — his poem of yesterday. Here — next my heart — . 

Molly. 
Pretty words — like bright beads on a string — . 

Esther. 
But "for wifely duty — " "For wifely duty," Molly? 

Molly. 
Ah — . If that be all your proofs, Hess! Swift is sure 
to hear of this, your latest offer — . 

Esther. 
[Quickly.} No — no — I'll never tell him — . 

Molly. 
Because — ? [Esther drops into chair with covered 
eyes.] And when he does hear — Let us put the Dean to 
a test — . 

Esther. 
I dare not — . 

Molly. 
You must, Hess. And if he advises you to go to the 
arms of another than himself — A test — a test — ! 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
[Entering again.] Two great trunks are ready. An' 
what's lackin' Hess can buy in Paris — . Well, Molly — 
'tis all settled, then ? Your sister consents — . 

Molly. 

[Aside to her mother.] 'Twill be wisdom to let Hess 
alone for awhile — . 



68 DEAN SWIFT 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
But — his lordship's to return for his answer in an 
hour — . 

[Jeems appears at door 1. Swift enters in black satin 
knee-breeches, jacket, silken stockings, silver-buckled 
shoes, "shovel" hat and linen bands. His look is gracious, 
as of one sure of welcome.] 

Jeems. 
Doctor Jonothan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin — 
[Swift gently pushes Jeems aside, he salutes, exits. 
Molly turns delightedly to Swift. Mrs. Van Homrigh 
comes smilingly forward. Esther starts to come down, 
pauses at right again.] 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
[Presenting her brow.] Welcome, Mister Dean — . 

Swift. 
[Pressing his lips to her brow with a comic, comradely 
smile to Molly.] Your servant, ma'am — . 

Molly. 
[With extravagant curtesy.] Hail — g-r-e-a-t genius o' 
the world — . Hail — Majesty! 

Swift. 
[Pinching her ear.] Silence, ye witch. Wi' thy tongue 
waggin' like a church-bell on a Sunday mornin' — . 

Esther. 
Ah [tapping a foot, jealously.] 

Molly. 
[Indicating Esther, in lower tone.] Beware — be- 
ware — . 



DE AN SW IF T 69 

Swift. 
Pooh — pooh! A chair — a chair for a weary man — 
[Mrs. Van Homrigh and Molly daintily dust a chair 
with handkerchiefs and draw it down. With pretended 
pomposity, sinking into chair.] Of what use are slaves 
but to wait upon me — ? 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
'Deed, Mister Dean, you're right welcome this very 
minute — . 

Esther. 
[Appealingly.] Mother — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh 
Be silent. For the Dean shall hear. Doctor, wi' no man 
at the head of this house — . 

Swift. 
[Gravely.] At your service, ma'am. 

Mrs. Van Homrigh 
There's Esther, blind to the luck that's ready at her 
hand — . 

Esther. 
But, mother, a woman's heart-affairs can be of no 
interest to the Dean — . 

Swift. 
[Teasingly.] And how do you know that, Miss? 

Esther. 
[Agitatedly.] Ah then — [sitting off at right.] 

Mrs. Van Homrigh 
Hesses offer of a week ago — the Yorkshire baronet as 
swears his son's the finest in the kingdom — . 



70 BE AN SW IF T 

Swift. 
But, ma'am, doesn't every ape believe that his are the 
finest monkeys? 

Molly. 
Ha ha ha — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh 
But another offer — an hour since — [Esther utters a 
bitter cry.] 

Swift. 
[To help Esther.] My coffee — My coffee — . Where's 
my coffee — . 

Molly. 
[Dragging her mother to right.] Come, mother, let's 
prepare the coffee — the brown beans that his Majesty 
loves — [Taking Mrs. Van Homrigh out door 2.] 

Swift. 
[Looking over at Esther who taps her foot again. 
Swift smiles, reading her mood.] Esther — [she takes no 
notice.] Esther — [as before.] Humph — [rising, moving 
to escritoire, lifting and dropping articles there, yet watch- 
ing Esther under his brows.] Cards — in daylight? and 
the rouge-pot not far off — ? [Esther starts at the in- 
sinuation. Going to her, looking down at her as on a 
peevish child, then lifting her face. Half -bant eringly.] 
Esther — 'tis that thy soul is jealous because — . 

Esther. 
[Getting away. Passionately, tearfully.] 'Twas to 
Molly that you spoke first — . 

Swift. 
Just as I'd speak to a child that hung about my knee — 
[sighing, returning to sink into chair as if weary.] Yet — 
in all London 'tis to you only that I am myself — . 



DE AN SWIF T 71 

Esther. 
[Radiant, nearing the chair.] Ah-ah — . 

Swift. 
[Moodily.] Myself that you're so fond o' finding fault 
with — . 

Esther. 
[Behind his chair, her hand on his shoulder.] Ah — 
forgive me — . 

Swift. 
For just as I begin to forget that you are a woman — . 

Esther. 
[Recoiling, to herself.] A woman! 

Swift. 
Out blazes that sharp tongue o' thine, demanding sub- 
mission — . 

Esther. 
[As before.] Submission! 

Swift. 
Tis my heart — my weary heart you'll be attackin' 
next — [in moody r every.] 

Esther. 
[Coming to his side. Tenderly.] Forgive me, Swift. 
But for two long days you've been away — . 

Swift. 
Yet half the time my thoughts were here — away from 
the quarrels o' the Tory ministry — . 

Esther. 
[Hurrying to bring a footstool and to sit at his feet. 
Radiant.] Oh — how proud — how proud you make me? 
Ah, Swift—. 



72 DEAN SWIFT 

Swift. 
[Absently twining a curl but NOT as a lover would.] 
Silly flatterer—. 

Esther. 
Tis the truth — the truth — [laying her cheek on his 
hand.] 

Swift. 
[Withdrawing his hand.] Cease, thou foolish child — . 

Esther. 
And your poem of yesterday — [touching bosom.] See — 
'tis here — . 

Swift. 
Pooh — a jingle o' words — rhymes that mean nothing — . 

Esther. 
[Taking out, kissing, replacing poem.] Here — next my 
heart — . 

Swift. 
Pah — destroy the thing — . 

Esther. 
Nay, I'll keep it forever ! 

Swift. 
[Moodiness rising to fierce anger.] Would that Lord 
Treasurer Oxford were as kind. He calls me "Jonothan" 
and "friend Swift." But I begin to believe that his min- 
istry means to leave me as they found me — a hedge-par- 
son — flattered — caressed and neglected! 

Esther. 
[With deep sympathy.] Would Lord Treasurer 
DARE — after his promises — over his own signature? 



DE AN SWIF T 73 

Swift. 
Promises? The promises of a politician! Hell is 
paved with them ! The Tory ship o' state is weatherin' the 
storm — 'Tis the "Irish parson's" kept it afloat these three 
months — . Delvin' into problems to fatten the treasury — 
reachin' after ends so hard to find that my pillow's not 
known me for many a night — . 

Esther. 
What base ingratitude! But Canterbury — 'Tis re- 
ported that tonight — at Lord Treasurer's gardens you're 
to get your commission — . 

Swift. 
Pah — I'll believe that when I hold the parchment in 
these two hands — [moving agitatedly about. Then, ex- 
plosively.] Nay — 'twill be better to leave London — . 

Esther. 

[Aside, agitatedly.] Leave London? [Covering her 
eyes. ] 

Swift. 

And kill the demon of ambition that's devourin' me! 
[In surprise, going to her.] Esther? 

Esther. 
[Recovering.] Ah — don't mind me — . 

Swift. 
[Lifting her face.] Are those tears that I see? 

Esther. 
[Moving away.] Nay — 'tis just — the vapors. 

Swift. 
Nay, Esther — 'tis the shadow o' my unhappy self de- 
mandin' thy soul's sympathy — . 



74 DE AN SWIF7 

Esther. 
Nay — you are wrong — . 

Swift. 
[Gayly.] Ah then — 'tis an idle young hussy that'd bet- 
ter be shakin' her heels to the tune o' a fiddle than be 
listenin' to the woes o' a gown o' forty-four — . 

Esther. 
I tell you — you are wrong. 

Swift. 
Then Hess, you're in love. Tell me the name o' the 
lucky man — . 

Molly. 
[Warningly, from door 3.] Ahem — [coming down, 
followed by Mrs. Van Homrigh. Swift's manner has 
not changed. But Esther's has. She flies to the escre- 
toire, snatches up red book, pretends to read.] Your 
Majesty's coffee's ready — . 

Swift. 
Ah — ye good child — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh 
[Frowning at Esther.] 'Deed, Mr. Dean, I greatly 
deplore that you've taught Hessie to love books — [Molly 
sits at harpischord, softly touching keys but listening to 
the others.] 

Swift. 
Ye'd rather, ma'am, she'd feed a parrot or entertain 
some brute in human form? 

Mrs. Van Homrigh 
Aye — that would I ! For Hess, this very instant, shud 
be thinkin' o' choosin' a life-mate — . 



DE AN SW IF T 75 

Molly. 
[Touching keys but speaking the words.] "For 'tis 
love that makes the world go round — ." 

Swift. 
Silence, ye witch — . 

Molly. 
"And leads us all to matrimony — ." 

Swift. 
"Wi' its attendant children — sickness — discord and 
loathing — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh 
[Covering her ears.] Stop, doctor — stop — . 

Swift. 
Love? Call it "thief" that'd rob ye of wit— call it 
"Lucifer" that — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh 
Stop — Doctor — . Tis heresy — . 'Twill corrupt my 
girls an' make spinsters of them both — . Come — coffee 
is served — [Pleadingly.] Bid Esther make a choice an' 
please me ! 

Swift. 
[With mock seriousness.] She shall, ma'am — she shall 
this very day. 

Mrs. Van Homrigh 
A million thanks, Doctor — [hurrying to right and out 
door 2.] 

Swift. 
[Going slowly to right, a girl clinging to each arm.] 
Hess — Ye heard me give my promise to your good mother 
just now? Faith, ye shall choose, this very day — . 



76 



DEAN SWIFT 



Esther. 

[Demurely.] But matrimony — with its attendant 
children — . 

Swift. 
[Pausing with them.] Hah — . 

Molly. 
Sickness — discord and loathing — . 

Swift. 

Of all the PRE-tentious young hussies — [All laughing, 
going out door 2.] 

Richard. 

[After a moment Richard enters door 1. He looks 
about him with a frown, hears Swift and Molly laugh, 
stares at door 2, then comes down.] Drink coffee with 
Swift? I will NOT. [Throws himself into chair in boy- 
ish misery, bites his nails, mops his eyes. Lewis appears 
at door 1 with Jeems. Dismissing Jeems, Lewis enters. 
Hears the gay voices from right, notes Richard's agita- 
tion. He nods knowingly, comes down softly behind 
Richard and pokes his ribs. Richard springs up 
savagely.] Who the devil — . 

Lewis. 
[Laughing.] No — . But a distant relation — . 

Richard. 
Pardon me, Lewis. But I've the most infernal tooth- 
ache — . 

Lewis. 
Nay, Richard — a heartache. But I know a cure. 

Richard. 
Then in God's name give it me. 



DEAN SWIFT 77 

Lewis. 
[In guarded tones, indicating door 2.] The Dean — ? 

Richard. 
[Sullenly.] Is there — taking coffee with the ladies — 
as usual. 

Lewis. 
You must be aware, Richard, that your cousin Esther's 
name — here in London, is being coupled with that of 
Swift—. 

Richard. 

Hah — the Dean is fortunate — . 

Lewis. 
But there lives in Dublin another woman — . 

Richard. 

[Coarsely.] Oho — the "pious parson — ." 

Lewis. 

His ward — who dwells in his house — receives his 
friends — . Swift'll marry Mistress Stella/ Johnson when 
he wins Canterbury — . So that your cousin should be 
warned—. 

Richard. 

Damn your parson ! As for "warning" the lady — warn 
her yourself — and be hanged to you — [hurrying through 
door 1. Lewis smiles, shrugs, moves toward door 2, 
listens, makes as if to enter, then changes his mind, coming 
dozvn as — ] 

Jeems. 

[Entering door 1 followed by a richly -dressed, middle- 
aged peer, on his breast a badge of office. Announcing.] 
My Lord Bolingbroke, Secretary of State — [salutes him, 
exits. Bolingbroke enters.] 



78 DE AN SWIF T 

Lewis. 
[Greeting Bolingbroke familiarly.] Ah — Mister Sec- 
retary of State — You've come for coffee, as usual? 

Bolingbroke. 
Not for coffee — this time. And — the Dean? 

Lewis. 
In Mistress Van's coffee-room. I'll summon him — . 

Bolingbroke. 
Er — not yet, Lewis — not yet. [Taking parchment from 
breast, with anxious look at door 2.] Fact is — I want to 
ask a favor of the Dean — . 

Lewis. 
Which Swift'll grant — that is, if it's anything in 
reason — . 

Bolingbroke. 
But it happens to be something not in reason — . 

Lewis. 
Better not ask it, then. 

Bolingbroke. 
Nor would I — had I not promised an old friend — er — 
her Grace of Marlbro — . 

Lewis. 
Her Grace — ! asking a favor for her Grace of Marlbro, 
who's stood between Swift and Canterbury these two 
years? Why, sir — Swift'll never grant — . 

Bolingbroke. 
Would to heaven I'd not promised. But — since young 
Lovelace is my god- son — . 



DE AN SW IF T 79 

Lewis. 
Lovelace — your god-son? Gad, sir, I wasn't aware 
that—. 

BOLINGBROKE. 

A relationship I've never mentioned because of the 
youth's profligate career. But since her Grace vows that 
a change of scene may save him — a trip to France — . 

Lewis. 
With the Embassy ? Good God, man, with a record 
like your god-son's — Swift is sure to refuse. Aha — 
fancy sending the nephew of the bitterest of Whigs to 
France with the Tory Embassy! No — no — it can't be 
done — . 

Lovelace. 
[Pushing Jeems aside rudely and hurrying through 
door 1.] I say, god-father — [Exit Jeems.] 

BOLINGBROKE. 

[Sharply.] Didn't I warn you, sir, to remain outside? 

Lovelace. 
And I warn you, god- father, that I stir not one step to 
France without Mistress Esther — . 

Lewis and Bolingbroke. 
Mistress Esther? 

Lovelace. 
Whom I love — adore ! Her Grace was here an hour 
ago—. 

Bolingbroke. 
Her Grace — here? 

Lewis. 
Humph — [turning away.] 



80 DE AN SWIF T 

Lovelace. 
I swear to't. Her Grace asked for me — most form- 
ally — for the lady's hand — . As for the lady herself — 
[foppish gesture.] 

Lewis. 
Your god-son must reckon with Swift on this, sir. 

Lovelace. 
With the "parson"? I fancy not. 'Tis an affair be- 
tween hearts and not dirty politics. 

Lewis. 
[With scornful gesture.] Pah — . 

BOLINGBROKE. 

[Haughtily.] If my god-son's offer to the lady be made 
in good faith — . 

Lovelace. 

My honor on't, god- father — my sacred honor — . 

[Door 2 opens. Molly and Esther appear. Lovelace 
makes to exit at door 1 but changes his mind, retreating to 
beyond harpischord. Bolingbroke, passing harpischord, 
places parchment on it. Mrs. Van Homrigh and Swift 
follow the two girls down. Swift's face still wears a 
smile.] 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Servant, ma'am — [kissing Mrs. Van Homrigh's 
hand.] Ladies — . 

Lewis. 

Morning — morning — [exchange of salutes, laughter, all 
coming down.] 

BOLINGBROKE. 

[Saluting Swift as he comes down as an equal.] Morn- 
ing, Swift — [Swift briefly nods, going to table.] 



DE AN SWIF T 81 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Gentlemen — 'tis not too late for coffee — . 

Lewis and Bolingbroke. 
Not today — another time — [Molly joins Lovelace at 
harpischord. Lewis joins Esther down right-front.] 

Swift. 
Well, Bolingbroke — ? 

Bolingbroke. 
[Nervously.] A favor at your hands, Swift — . 

Swift. 
[Imperiously.] Business first, Mr. Secretary o' State — . 
My orders 'bout the fleet? 

Bolingbroke. 
To Spain, as you advised — . 

Swift. 
And — the envoy to Holland? ' 

Bolingbroke. 
Gone as you suggested — . 

Molly. 
[Laughing. To Lovelace.] Nay — you flatter us all — . 

Swift. 
[Discovering Lovelace. Frowning, at table.] Hah — . 

Bolingbroke. 
Gad, sir, you've cut out enough work for the Tory 
ministry to last a for'night — . 



82 DE AN SW IF T 

Swift. 
[Meaningly.] Yet England's Secretary o' State finds 
time to waste wi' fops an' fools — [Lovelace puts hand on 
sword. Molly leaves the harpischord and joins Esther.] 

BOLINGBROKE. 

But — unfortunately my god-son — . Er — Swift — as you 
are aware, the Embassy to France is short of a secretary — 
the place will suit a young friend of mine — . 

Swift. 
[Briefly.] Then give it him! 

BOLINGBROKE. 

You agree to that? 

Swift. 
Pooh — why should I refuse? 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Er — because the youth is — of the opposite camp — . 

Swift. 
What, sir — a Whig? Nay — nay — not while there are 
plenty o' young Tories for the place — [Lewis moves to 
harpischord. ] 

BOLINGBROKE. 

But — to keep a promise to an old friend — Why, sir, 
with your name on this voucher — [hurrying to bring down 
parchment from harpischord and spreading it to table be- 
fore Swift] every door in France will open to my god- 
son — . 

Swift. 

[Jeeringly.] What — send yonder fop an' fool to France 
wi' the Embassy? [Lovelace with a muttered word puts 
hand on sword. Lewis smiles, forbids with shake of the 



BE AN SWIF T 83 

head.] Yonder rake — wi' ambition no higher than the 
laces at his wrist — ? Stand sponsor for HIM? I will 
not. Ye must be mad, Bolingbroke, to ask that as a 
"favor." [Discarding parchment.] 

Bolingbroke. 

But suppose the youth has a change of heart? [Crossing 
to Esther.] 

Swift. 
What's his change o' heart to me? 

Bolingbroke. 
But — since the lady's well known to you — [bringing 
Esther to center and leaving her there, where she stands 
agitated, silent.] 

Swift. 
[Going to Esther. In lower tone.] Good God, child, 
is this he that ye love? This ne'er-do-well — this titled 
rake — [Mrs. Van Homrigh hurries to Swift.] Ah — 
I can not believe it — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Nay, doctor — your promise of an hour ago — that Esther 
make a choice — . 

Swift. 
But, ma'am — to hand your daughter over to this — 
this— Ah-h— . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Pah — 'tis just court gossip — nothing more. And wi' a 
wife to steady him — . 

Swift. 
Ah — the pity of it — the pity of it — . 



84 DEAN SWIFT 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
But consider, sir — a future duchess! The strawberry 
leaves o' a crownet — . 

Swift. 
Ah-h — Where's the woman in a' London'd refuse the 
chance? Bolingbroke — [leaving Esther and returning to 
sit at table with moody look.] 

Bolingbroke. 
Swift? 

Swift. 
That parchment — I'll sign. 

Bolingbroke. 
Lewis — [who finds pen and ink-pot on escritoire. He 
brings both to table where Bolingbroke smilingly speads 
the parchment open. Presenting pen with a bozv.] Sign 
here, sir — [Swift takes up pen, stares at parchment, 
pauses moodily, watching Esther as Lovelace hurries to 
take her hand.] 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
[Tearfully, joyfully, to Molly.] Ah — Molly — a future 
duchess for thy sister — a duchess — . 

Lovelace. 
Mistress Esther — so ye'll go to France wi' me tomor- 
row — [Esther withdraws her hand.] Nay — nay — let me 
teach you what love means — I adore you — . 

Esther. 
[With a low cry.] No — I'll not listen — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
[Scandalized.] ESTHER ! 



DEAN SWIFT 85 

Lovelace. 
[Flippantly.] Give me time, ma'am — give me time and 
your fair daughter will — . 

Swift. 
[Dashing down pen, rising and coming down quickly.] 
Looke, sirrah — . 

Lovelace. 
[Insolently.] What now, sir? 

Swift. 
Since this house hath no master — as a friend of all 
under this roof — . This marriage — Is her Grace aware — . 

Lovelace. 
Her Grace was here an hour ago and asked for the 
lady's hand — . 

Swift. 
Bolingbroke — ? You vouch for the truth of this? 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Yes. Since my god-son's sworn it on his. word of 
honor — . 

Swift. 
His "word of honor!" Pah — [Lovelace's hand again 
on sword.] 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
My word for't, Mister Dean. 'Twas her Grace as 
asked me — . 

Lovelace. 
[To Esther.] 'Tis as good as done, Mistress — . 

Swift. 
And — the ceremony is — when ? 



86 DEANSWIF'l 

Lovelace. 
Since the Embassy means to cross channel tomorrow — 
[taking Esther's hand again.] 

Swift. 
Tomorrow!!! [Looks at Esther with pity, utters a 
deep sigh, moves to table, takes up pen.] Bolingbroke — 
I'll sign after all — [Signing parchment.] 

Lovelace. 
[Taking Esther down front. In low, ardent tones.] 
Mistress Esther, why so cold a look? 

Esther. 
I have told you that I do not love you. Would you 
marry me, knowing that? 

Lovelace. 
Yes — I would — I will. Marry me — give me time to win 
you. Marry me — go to France with me tomorrow — to 
France, where the nights are brighter than the days — 
France — the land to love in — Ah, Mistress Esther! In 
France, with me beside you — you'll soon surrender to the 
passion that's consumin' me — Ah — beautiful body that'll 
soon be in my arms — [Embracing her.] 

Esther. 
No — no — you must not — you shall not — [Getting away 
and coming down front agitatedly.] 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
[Going to her, in low tones.] Child — are ye crazy? 

Esther. 
I warned you, mother, that my body was my own — . 



DEAN SWIFT 87 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
Your conduct is scandalous. Ye shall ask pardon this 
minute — [Bringing Esther down to Lovelace.] Your 
good lordship — . 

Esther. 
[Appealingly.] Ah, mother — [Mrs. Van Homrigh 
joins Molly at har pis chord.] 

Lovelace. 
All's forgiven mistress. 

Esther. 
[Surrendering to fate with a bitter cry.] Ah — . 

Lovelace. 
[Clasping Esther.] Mistress — you are mine — mine. 

Swift. 
Looke, Lovelace — the name o' the parson's to tie the 
knot — [Coming down quickly.] 

Lovelace. 
[Angrily.] Am I a child that must recite a lesson? 
Besides, 'tis an affair between Mistress Esther and myself 
only — [seizing Esther again.] 

Swift. 
[Roughly thrusting Lovelace aside and stepping be- 
tween him and Esther.] Come — his name — the parson's 
name — . 

Lovelace. 
I tell you 'tis not your affair. [Reaching across Swift 
to Esther.] Come away with me, Esther — . 

Esther. 
No — no — I will not — I hate — despise you — . 



88 DE AN SWIF T 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 
ESTHER! 

Swift. 
[Putting Esther behind him. Fiercely, to Lovelace.] 
So, sirrah — 'twas a mock marriage ye'd planned — . 

Mrs. Van Homrigh. 

A mock marriage? My — oh — my — [weeping into 
handkerchief .] 

[Duchess and mute servant with Jeems appear at door 
1. Duchess signals to Jeems — he vanishes.] 

Swift. 
A mock marriage — [walking almost over Lovelace 
with savage look, pointing to door 1.] Liar and perjurer — 
Get ye hence — [Lovelace recoils.] 

Duchess. 
[Insolently, coming down, the mute remains at door.] 
What, sir Dean, be this the language to address to MY 
nephew and an English peer? 

Swift. 
Ah — your Grace is just in time to hear — . Yonder 
rascal had planned a mock marriage — he'd have made of 
Mistress Esther — . 

Duchess. 
His mistress? Ha ha — What — mistress to a future 
Duke? 'Twould ha' made the girl famous. Tilly-vally, 
sir Dean — . 

[Swift crosses to Duchess and eyes her with a glance 
of scorn. She quails and recoils with a gesture of fear. 
Then, abruptly turning his back on her, coming to Boling- 
broke and touching the badge on his breast. Sternly.] 
Beware, mister Secretary o' State, lest the "Irish parson" 
deprive ye of your place in Parliament — . 



DEAN SWIFT 89 

BOLINGBROKE. 

[Agitatedly.] I call Lewis to witness, sir, that I be- 
lieved the offer an honorable one — . 

Swift. 
Bah! [Going to table, snatching up, tearing the parch- 
ment across and discarding the pieces. Indicating Love- 
lace who has backed to left.] As for that place on the 
Embassy — ye can put yonder ass to graze elsewhere! 
[Pointing to door.] Go, sir, go. The very air's polluted 
that ye breathe — . 

[Lovelace, with hand on sword, suddenly turns, rushes 
past the Duchess and exits door 1.] 

Esther. 
[As Molly runs to her at centre.] Ah — Molly — [both 
faces radiant — the test a proof of Swift's love for 
Esther.] 

Duchess. , 

[Coming down a little.] Hah, Swift — ye shall rue this 
day. Ye shall rue it — . This insult to my house — . 

Swift. 
As for your Grace — [going to door 1 lifting the 
drapery, with genial smile] we bid you good morning. 

Duchess. 
[Pausing under the drapery.] An' though 'tis reported 
that ye win the gown o' Canterbury at Lord Treasurer's 
dinner tonight — your commission signed an' sealed — . 

Swift. 
[Genially, as before.] A very good morning — . 



90 DE AN SWIF T 

Duchess. 
Hah — . I'll yet find a way to thwart ye — . 

Swift. 

[Genially.] Try it, your Grace — and see which of us — 
will win ! 

[Swift holding back the drapery with genial smile. The 
Duchess glaring at him over her shoulder, the Indian 
mute beyond. Esther and Molly with radiant faces, 
watching Swift. Mrs. Van Homrigh at harpischord, 
weeping into handkerchief, consoled by Lewis, who smiles 
a little. Bolingbroke sits at right with bent head.] 

CURTAIN. 

End of the Second Act. 



THE THIRD ACT. 

Scene — Lord Treasurer's Garden, London. Evening 
of the same day. 

A wide lawn with a fountain or a parterre of flowers at 
its centre. Half -circling this is a rustic seat round 
which most of the incidents occur. At left, at the 
rear, is a massive gate opening inward from the road. 
To right of gate along the rear is a platform, a few 
shallow steps leading to its top. To extreme right of 
this platform is the door to the banquet-room. Along 
the top of the platform is a breast-high grillwork. Be- 
low it the road leading off to both right and left. At 
the foot of platform are two pedestals holding lighted 
flambeaux. At the base of both pedestals is dense 
shrubbery or vines about three feet high. Along both 
right and left of lawn is shrubbery and beyond the left 
side are trees. Rustic seats here and there. Many 
colored lanterns, and a moon rising on distant sky. 

At rise — The English Court in full regalia — the Tory 
Ministry and their friends. A minuet being danced 
down centre to the music of an unseen orchestra. A 
footman stands at gate. 

[The minuet ends, the dancers move off. Two extrava- 
gantly dressed ladies with escorts pause before the 
curved seat.] 

Lady Nettleton. 
[Young, vivacious.] Listen, friends. 



92 DE AN SWIF T 

Her Friends. 
Let's hear — little Nettle — let's hear. 

Lady Nettleton. 
Maria Monckton's "diamonds" be all of paste. 

Her Friends. 
OF PASTE!!! 

Lady Nettleton. 
Yes. At the Ballington ball last night, they fell to the 
floor and exploded. 

Her Friends. 
EXPLODED ! ! ! 

Lady Nettleton. 
Well — when they fell from her bosom they broke into 
bits—. 

Her Friends. 
Into bits? Ha-Ha-Ha— . 

Lady Nettleton. 
But I never believed she'd paid all those guineas for 
them — . 

Her Friends. 
[All moving to right.] Nor I — nor I — . 

Lady Tattleton. 
[A duplicate of Lady Nettleton and friends come to 
seat.] Listen, friends — stop and listen. 

Her Friends. 
Tell us — Let us hear — . 



DE AN BW IF T 93 

Lady Tattleton. 
'Tis reported that when her Majesty, last week, sent a 
messenger for the key of the royal bed-chamber, her 
Grace o' Marlbro took it from her bosom and flung it on 
the floor — . 

Her Friends. 
FLUNG IT ON THE FLOOR— her Majesty's gold 
key— Oh— Oh — . 

Lady Tattleton. 

Yes. "There it is," says she. "And give it to whom 
ye like." Then her Grace shed tears — . 

Her Friends. 
SHED TEARS? Ha-Ha-Ha— . 

Lady Tattleton. 
Tore off her wig and danced on it — . 

Her Friends. ■ 
Danced on her wig? OH-OH — . 

Lord Harcourt. 

[An elderly Peer wearing a badge of office joins the 
group.] Did you know that her Grace's nephew goes 
not to France with the Embassy? [Cries of "not to 
France" and "why not?"] Because the Dean refused. 
[Applause.] And the best news of all — [cries of "Let's 
hear."] 'Tis reported that the Dean's commission lies in 
her Majesty's bed-chamber — . 

Lady Tattleton and Friends. 
[Startled.] In the Queen's bed-chamber? 



94 DE AN SW IF T 

Harcourt. 
Yes. When her Majesty's physicians told Lord 
Treasurer that she was ill — [Cries of derision] he insisted 
that she was well enough to trace her signature on a bit 
of parchment — [applause] so he left it there and is to send 
for it within the hour. 

Lady Tattleton and Friends. 
Bravo the Dean — Viva Swift — Canterbury. 

Harcourt. 
[Indicating a middle-aged Peer with splendid badge of 
office as he comes from door of banquet-room.] Hist — 
our host — Lord Treasurer — . 

Oxford. 
[Coming down steps and greeting friends. In his hand 
is a small white tablet.] Welcome, friends, welcome — . 

Guests. 
[Saluting him.] Lord Treasurer — Oxford — . 

Harcourt. 
[loining Oxford down front.] Oxford — is it true that 
the Dean's to get his commission tonight, here in your 
garden ? 

Oxford. 
Yes. I had almost to force my way into the Queen's 
bed-chamber — . 

Harcourt. 
Then you don't believe she's ill? 

Oxford. 
[Frowningly reading tablet.] Most certainly not. Some 
trick of those damnable Whigs. Oh — she'll sign. I've 
no fears on that score. 



DEAN SWIFT 95 

Harcourt. 
Thank heaven, we Tories have paid our debt to Swift 
at last. So her Grace — . 

Oxford. 
After a battle against the Dean for two long years — 
her Grace loses the game after all. 

Harcourt. 
Then — why your worried look, Lord Treasurer? 

Oxford. 
Why? [Striking the tablet.] Look, you, Harcourt, 
This tablet holds the name of every Tory invited to this 
dinner — yet but half of them are here — the other half — 
[biting his lips.] 

Harcourt. 
The other half? 

Oxford. 
[Lewis comes down.] The other half is ready to 
follow my Secretary of State into the other camp — . 

Harcourt. . 

Bolingbroke to go over to the Whigs? Hah, sir — I 
can't believe — . 

Oxford. 
But I've proof of it — proof of it! 

Lewis. 
My Lord Treasurer — could hear you clear to the 
gate—. 

Oxford. 

Pooh! since we're among friends — . And doesn't all 
England know that those damnable Whigs have been try- 
ing — these many months to turn out the ministry — se- 
ducing our friends — actually, at this very moment guard- 
ing the Queen's bed-chamber — ? 



96 DEAN SWIFT 

Lewis. 
[Startled.] Guarding the Queen's bed-chamber? For 
what reason, sir? 

Oxford. 
Under pretence that she is ill and needs the ministration 
of all her friends, no matter of what camp — . Ill — though 
but yesterday she gave audience to three ambassadors. 

Lewis. 
But, Oxford — Swift's commission for Canterbury — ? 

Oxford. 
It lies this moment within the royal bed-chamber all 
but signed — . I've but to send a messenger for it — . 

Lewis. 
Good news indeed — . 

Oxford. 
To balance the bad news that Bolingbroke's been dicker- 
ing with the Whigs — . 

Lewis. 
[Startled.] Ah—? 

Oxford. 
Yes. But where's the Dean ? Why is he so late — since 
I am giving this dinner in his honor? 

Lewis. 
[Laughing.] He's probably keeping those "lazy beg- 
gars" as he calls them, waiting his pleasure. 

Oxford. 
I wish he were here. I feel more secure with Swift 
at my elbow. [Moving off with Harcourt and Lewis.] 



DE AN SWIF T 97 

[A commotion at gate as the Duchess enters alone, ex- 
travagantly dressed and painted. Laughing guests make 
way for her with sneering remarks which the Duchess 
ignores as she comes down to curved seat where she sits, 
calmly spreading out her splendid dress and waving her 
fan.] 

Lady Tattleton. 
[Coming down with escort to seat. Sweetly.] Why — 
your Grace — 'mong Tories? 

Duchess. 
[Gayly.] Why not, little Tattle — wi' the rest o' the 
rag-tag an' bob-tail o' the Court? 

Lady Tattleton. 
But — alone? And without your great "general," the 
Duke? And at whose invitation is your Grace here? 

Duchess. 
Begone, little Tattle an' wash off some of that paint — . 

Lady Tattleton. 

Am no more painted that yourself that's old enough 
to be my grandam! [Moving off with escort.] 

Lady Nettleton. 

[Nearing Duchess with escort.] Her Grace o' Marl- 
bro ! No — no — I must be mistaken — . 

Duchess. 

Aye — 'twas only yesterday that I heard ye were losing 
your eyesight. [Low laughter of guests at Lady Nettle- 
ton's expense.] 



98 DEAN SWIFT 

Lady Nettleton. 
But my eyesight's good enough to behold the ninth won- 
der o' the world — the bitterest o' Whigs — at a Tory din- 
ner — . 

Duchess. 
Aha — the tenth wonder — the report that you've already 
planned to elope wi' your youngest footman — . 

Lady Nettleton. 
'Tis a lie — a lie — [stamping her foot, tearfully appeal- 
ing to friends who softly jeer at her. To Duchess.] 
Oh — you wicked woman ! [Friends carry Lady Nettle- 
ton off. Again the Duchess calmly arranges her draper- 
ies, ignoring the sneers about her.] 

Oxford. 
[Coming down right with Lewis and discovering the 
Duchess.] Look — Lewis — look, her Grace of Marlbro — . 

Lewis. 
Gad — so it is — . At whose invitation? 

Oxford. 
I'll ask her. [Crossing to Duchess, followed more 
slowly by Lewis.] Your Grace — ? 

Duchess. 
[Smiling, with the smallest of bows.] Eh, Oxford — ? 

Oxford. 
Your Grace — at a Tory dinner? 

Duchess. 
An' why not, Lord Treasurer — if the cookin' be good? 



DE AN SWIF T 99 

Oxford. 
Here — at whose invitation, may I ask? 

Duchess. 
On my own. Like the rest o' the world I'm here to 
see the g-r-e-a-t Dean get his commission — . 

Oxford. 
[Frowning, coldly turning away.] Humph — . 

Duchess. 
[Rising.] Ah well — since ye don't want an old woman 
at your dinner-table — [turning as if to go.] 

Oxford. 
[Coldly.] The "old woman" is welcome — [Moving off 
with Lewis to right.] 

Duchess. 
[Again insolently returning the glares of those about 
her as she spreads her draperies on seat. Bolingbroke 
enters gate, comes down, saluting guests as, friends. As 
he nears the curved seat, the Duchess sees him, taps the 
seat with her fan, with a smile.] Bolingbroke — . 

Bolingbroke. 
[Startled at seeing her, with a hasty glance about, he 
joins her.] Your Grace here? 

Duchess. 
[Merrily.] An' why shudn't I be here? 

Bolingbroke. 
But — in Lord Treasurer's gardens ! Your Grace among 
Tories — / 



100 DEAN SWIFT 

Duchess. 
Come, sit ye down here — . 

BOLINGBROKE. 

No — no. I must refuse. Has Oxford — . 

Duchess. 
Discovered me? Ha ha — he has. 

BOLINGBROKE. 

What said he to you? 

Duchess. 
Mighty little when I told him I'd come — like the rest o' 
the world, to see Swift get his commission — . 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Then he's not heard of that affair of this morning — . 

Duchess. 
My nephew's love affair ? Pooh ! Let him hear. And 
thanks for the loan of your coach — . 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Had I known that your Grace's reason for borrowing 
my coach was — [agitated] to visit this garden — . 

Duchess. 
[Merrily.] Ye wouldn't ha' loaned it, eh? 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Ah — your Grace has ruined me with Oxford — . 

Duchess. 
But since ye'e been quarrelling wi' him these many 
months. But — listen to the real reason o' my being here. 
Tis to answer Swift's challenge o' this mornin' — to see 
which of us will win. 



DEAN SWIFT 101 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Then I hope to heaven your Grace will lose. 

Duchess. 
Well, I'll take a chance. [Seeing Oxford coming down. 
Merrily.] Hah — Here's a rod in pickle for ye — . 

Oxford. 
[Sternly.] Bolingbroke — . 

BOLINGBROKE. 

[Saluting. Deprecatingly.] Oxford- Lord Treasurer — . 

Oxford. 
Mister Secretary of State — this rendezvous — with her 
Grace — in my garden — At this dinner given to Swift — 
'Tis an insult to the Dean as well. 

Bolingbroke. 
'Tis not meant to be. Let me explain. 

Oxford. 
This is the second "favor" you've extended to her 
Grace today ! That place on the Embassy for her rascally 
nephew — . 

Duchess. 
[Merrily.] Tut, tut, Oxford — let my relatives alone — . 

Oxford. 
[Ignoring Duchess.] Report reaches me that you 
visit Blenhiem — . 

Bolingbroke. 
But as a friend — as a friend only. Believe me, Lord 
Treasurer — . 



102 DEAN SWIFT 

Oxford. 
That you hobnob with the Whigs there — listen to of- 
fers to betray your party — . 

BoLINGBROKE. 

[His hand on sword.] He who say that — LIES! 

Oxford. 
[His hand on sword.] This — to your superior in the 
Ministry — [Both swords cross at centre. Guests gather 
with cries of alarm. The Duchess cackles merrily and 
rises to see the better.] 

Lewis. 
Bolingbroke — [disarming him, returning sword and 
taking him to rear.] 

Harcourt. 
Lord Treasurer — [disarming him.] Before your guests, 
the ladies — ? [Returning sword and leading Oxford off 
to right.] 

Duchess. 

[Merrily, addressing guests.] What — must ye always 
be needing the "Irish Parson" to keep the peace between 
ye? Swift — who makes laws for e'en the Queen — for- 
bids paint, powder an' beauty spots to the Maids o' 
Honor — By my coronet — Swift'll yet be askin' ye to kiss 
his slipper — . 

[A commotion near gate. Swift enters in splendid 
court suit of satin, a slight touch of powder on his black 
wig. He comes down between the double lane of admiring 
guests. He smiles at guests, not saluting them. His face 
beams, plainly showing he feels his hour of triumph is 
near.] 



BE AN SWIFT 103 

Duchess. 

[Startled.] Hah — 'tis Swift — [Brazenly seising the 
arm of the nearest male guest and making him promenade 
with her at right, within hearing of Swift.] 

Oxford. 

[Meeting Swift at centre with extended hands.] Wel- 
come Swift — Welcome, Archbishop of Canterbury — 
[Loud cries of "Swift" and "Canterbury."] 

Swift. 
[Shaking Oxford's hands, laughing.] Canterbury? 
Aha — not yet, Oxford — . 

Oxford. 
When your commission lies at this moment in the 
Queen's bed-chamber? 

Swift. 
Nay, Lord Treasurer — until I hold it in these two 
hands — . 

Lewis. 
Hail — King of Tories — . 

Swift. 
Bah — I'd rather be King o' Hades — for then my sub- 
jects'd be less unruly — [Guests murmur and quiet down.] 
Oxford, had I known that I was to serve as "a lion" — 
[With sudden disdainful look at guests.] 

Oxford. 
[Laughing.] Nay, Swift, you see here the flower of 
England's nobility. 

Swift. 
Corrupt politicians an' a licentious Court — [ Guests mur- 
mur.] Oxford, where's the bill o' your company — ? 



104 DE AN SWIF T 

Oxford. 
[Giving tablet.] 'Tis here, Swift. 

Swift. 
[Disdaining to read to himself.] Duke o' Ormonde? 
He'll do. Earl Peterbro — Harcourt — Shrewsbury — 
Rivers — [mutteringly.] Prior — [suddenly striking the 
tablet.] Hah— NOTTINGHAM ! ! When ye know, Ox- 
ford, that he'd sell us Tories for a bag o' ha'pence — 
[Tossing the tablet back to Oxford.] Either I dine wi' 
honest men or not at all — . 

Oxford. 

[Beckoning a footman whose belt denotes a higher rank 
than his fellows.] Right, Swift, and — as he's not yet ar- 
rived — [whispering to footman, who salutes, exits quickly 
through the gate.] 'Tis corrected, Swift — . 

Swift. 

[Mollified.] Ah — [Beginning to view guests as cab- 
bages.] What's to amuse me here? Three dukes — four 
"noble" earls — thrice as many Lords — [Discovering the 
Duchess. Pointing to her merrily.] Hah, Oxford — is't 
a convert ye have there? [Low laughter of guests.] 

Oxford. 
[To humiliate Duchess.] Pooh — 'tis just — her Grace 
of Marlbro. 

Swift. 
[Peering at the Duchess under his hand.] Faith — so 
'tis! Come to see "the Irish parson" get his gown? 
[Saluting her.] Swift is mightily honored — yes — an' 
pleased ! 

Duchess. 
[Raising a clenched hand.] Hah, Swift — . 



DEAN SWIFT 105 

Swift. 
[Abruptly turning his back on her. To Harcourt who 
presents a richly-dressed guest.] Well, Harcourt? 

Harcourt. 
Swift — this is Lord Comstock — [guest bows deeply.] 

Swift. 
[Insolently, ignoring guest.] Bah — Harcourt — have 
too many "lords" on my list already — . 

Oxford. 
[In lower tone, laughingly.] Gad, Swift — Comstock's 
neither Whig nor Tory — . 

Swift. 
Neither — ? in times like these? He must be neuter 
gender then — . 

Oxford. 
Also a distant relative of her Grace's — . 

Swift. 
[Disdaining to lower his voice.] Pooh I What's her 
Grace's "relatives" to me — or her ancestors either? 

Duchess. 
Thank God there were no "parsons" among 'em! 

Swift. 
[Genially.] No such good luck, ma'am. 

Oxford. 
[Laughing.] Desist, Swift, desist. 

Swift. 
[Superbly.] Pooh! Why should I? Isn't this MY 
dinner, Oxford? 



106 BE AN SWIF T 

[The Duchess with a gesture of fury, suddenly 
dropping her escort's arm, rushes up steps into banquet- 
room to laughter of guests.] 

Oxford. 
To dinner, friends — [Guests begin to move to rear.] 
Come, Swift — . 

Swift. 
[Seeing Molly with young escort entering gate.] In 
a moment, Oxford. [Oxford leads guests to banquet- 
room door, waiting there for Swift.] 

Molly 
[In extravagant dress, comes to centre with escort. 
With a sweeping bow.] Hail — Majesty — . 

Swift. 
[Smiling and pinching her cheek.] Molly, ye witch — 
stop that trick o' droppin' to your knees — . 

Molly. 

Your Majesty looks splendid tonight — ! G-r-a-n-d! 
O-O-OH— . 

Swift. 
Another curts'y an' I'll have ye ordered from yonder 
gate. Where's Esther? 

Molly. 
On the road with Richard — . 

Swift. 
Ah — The young jade's always late — [cries from ban- 
quet-room of "Swift."] 



DE AN SWIFT 107 

Oxford. 

[Coming down a little.] Swift — your guests await 
you — [Swift motions to Molly, she hurries up steps with 
escort into banquet-room. Swift and Oxford follow. 
Swift is greeted at the door with clapping of hands, he 
bows, enters, Oxford follows, the door closes, voices con- 
tinuing to be heard from there.] 

[A slight pause. Then Esther and Richard enter. 
Esther is simply dressed. About her waist is a soft, 
silken white sash. Richard is in military dress, white 
cloth cuffs, short sword, powdered wig. Esther enters 
quickly, instantly intent on voices from right. Richard 
follows with agitated looks. He goes straight to the curved 
seat and throws himself on it with covered eyes. Esther 
looks at him, goes up a step or two, looks back at Richard, 
frowns and comes down to behind seat.] 

Esther. 
Richard — . 

Richard. 
[Turning to her appealingly.] Esther — cousin Esther — . 

Esther. 
Ah — why cannot you be satisfied with a plain "no ?" 

Richard. 
Esther — . 

Esther. 
[Impatiently, eager to get to banquet-room.] I've told 
you a dozen times, Richard, that I can never marry you. 
So ask me not again. 

Richard. 
Esther, your refusal means exile to me! 



108 DEAN SWIFT 

Esther. 
[Startled.] Exile? You'd give up home — friends, 
country, and your career in the army — . 

Richard. 
All — all, and bury myself where dangers lurk — 
America ! 

Esther. 
Silly boy — [Renewed cries of "Swift," "the Dean" and 
"Canterbury" Applause. Esther hurries to steps 
quickly.] 

Richard. 
[Jumping up, follows, seizing her arm.] Esther — . 

Esther. 
Let go — how DARE you, Richard — ? 

Richard. 
[Bringing her down and flinging her to before him.] 
But before I go you shall answer me one question — . 

Esther. 
I'll answer no question of yours, Richard — . 

Richard. 
Then I'll ask and answer the question myself. You 
refuse me? Why? Because you love the Dean — . 

Esther. 
[Covering her ears.] I'll not listen — I'll not listen — . 

Richard. 
The Dean who's promised to another — . 

Esther. 
Not listen — . 



DEAN SWIFT 109 

Richard. 
To Mistress Stella Johnson — who lives in his house — 
receives his friends — . 

Esther. 
"Tis false — 'tis false — . 

Richard. 
When Swift wins Canterbury he'll marry Mistress 
Stella—. 

Esther. 
[In tearful triumph.] Whom he left to return to me — 
to me — . 

Richard. 
OHO— OHO— HA HA—. 

Esther. 
[Sobbingly.] Oh — cruel Richard, cruel Richard — 
[Rushing through shrubbery to left.] 

[Richard falls agitatedly on rustic seat, bites his nails, 
weeps into his handkerchief till renewed cries of 
"SWIFT" "the DEAN" make him scowl toward banquet- 
room. Then, deciding to pull himself together, he mops 
his eyes and throws back his shoulders boyishly. A 
scream comes from left.] 

[Springing up, his hand on sword.] Esther's voice — 
Esther — [running to left and through shrubbery. A 
slight pause. Then Swift and Harcourt come from ban- 
quet-room, the door closed, down to front.] 

Swift. 
[Frowning.] Now, Harcourt — since you've spoiled my 
dinner — . 



110 BE AN SW IF T 

Harcourt. 
[Agitatedly.] I tell you, Swift, there's mischief brew- 
ing — our enemies, the Whigs — . 

Swift. 
Pho — wi' the bitterest o' 'em eatin' Oxford puddings 
yonder ? 

Harcourt. 
But isn't it like her Grace to be on hand when the blow 
falls? 

Swift. 

[Startled.] The blow — what blow d'ye mean? 

Harcourt. 
This continued report of the Queen's illness — . 

Swift. 
An' you'd spoil my dinner because an old woman's got 
an ache in her toe? Bah — . 

Harcourt. 
From my seat at table — next to her Grace, I could dis- 
tinctly hear her whisper to Comstock that her Majesty's 
lain in a coma all afternoon — . 

Swift. 
A COMA? Hah! we must look into that report. Go 
you to the palace — insist on seeing the Queen — be she ill 
or well — [both hurrying to gate] and return here without 
delay — Your coach — . 

Harcourt. 
At the foot of the hill — . 

Swift. 
Make haste, Harcourt, I'll await you here — . 



DE AN SWI F T 111 

Harcourt. 
But — your guests — why not join them — . 

Swift. 

[Pushing Harcourt to gate.] No — no — I'll await you 
here — Hurry — [Harcourt exits through gate and off to 
right, to road. Swift comes down to seat, sinks on it as 
if anticipating the worst.] What if this report be true — 
What if the Queen expires without signing my commis- 
sion — what if Canterbury is lost to me? It would mean 
that I'm to die on Irish soil — like a poisoned rat in a hole!! 
[A scream from left. Swift comes out of his troubled 
thought as Esther backs in at left through shrubbery, 
her dress awry, her sash falling off, her looks agitated as 
she stares to left. Swift, his woes forgotten, hurries to 
take her hand.] Esther — [Esther struggles to get away 
as if not recognizing Swift.] Esther, child — 'tis Swift — 
fear not — . 

Esther. 

Ah Swift — [pointing to left.] He will kill my poor 
cousin — . v 

[Clash of swords and savage cries come from left. 
Then, through the shrubbery Lovelace backs in, his sword 
crossing that of Richard's. On Lovelace's white silken 
shirt is a crimson stain. Richard backs Lovelace in, a 
crimson stain on one white cuff. Both reach the centre. 
Esther falls agitatedly onto curved seat.] 

Swift. 

[ With raised hand walking between the swords. ] Stop — 
Stop. The meaning of this? [Lovelace lowers his sword 
and begins sullenly to dig its point into the ground.] 



112 DEAN SWIFT 

Richard. 
[Putting up his sword.] I found Mistress Esther 
struggling with two footmen in the woods yonder — foot- 
men in the Marlbro livery — . 

Swift. 
[To Lovelace.] Ah — ? 

Lovelace. 
'Tis a lie — they were no servants of mine — . 

Swift. 
[To Richard.] And — Her Graces' nephew — ? 

Richard. 

Skulking behind the trees — in safety. [Esther goes to 
Richard and begins to bind his wounded wrist with her 
sash. Richard ignores this.] 

Lovelace. 
'Tis another lie — ye can't prove it — I'd just arrived 
there — [The Indian servant comes through the shrubbery 
with Lovelace's jacket and offers to put it on. Loveeace 
snatches it and flings it across his shoulder. The Indian 
stands stolidly beyond with folded arms.] 

Swift. 

A lie, was it? With her Grace's footman to prove it 
truth? So — 'tis not only a kidnaper but a LIAR as 
well — [nearing Lovelace] and as neither is worthy to 
wear a sword — [snatching the sword from Lovelace's 
hand, bending it across his knee, breaking it, tossing the 
pieces aside.] 

Lovelace. 

Hah — my aunt shall hear of this — [turning and going 
to right.] 



DE AN SWIF T 113 

Swift. 
My compliments to her — and — ha ha — show her that 
wound in your back. [The belted footman of Oxford 
enters gate. He presents a letter to Swift who takes it 
quickly, tearing it open. Lovelace rushes up the steps 
into banquet-room, closing the door. The Indian turns to 
left shrubbery. Swift points to him, speaking to the 
belted footman.] Send yonder footman from these gar- 
dens. [Reading the letter without interest. The belted 
footman gestures to the Indian, who turns, moves to gate 
without haste, then exits to right. The footman runs up the 
steps, whips off his belt and bends over the grillwork as if 
lashing the Indian an instant, then enters the banquet- 
room — a rapid pantomime. The letter hastily finished, 
Swift thrusts it into his bosom.] As for you, Richard — 
see to your wound. 

Richard. 
Tis a mere scratch, sir. [To Esther, snatching away 
his bandaged hand.] Farewell, Esther — I sail tonight — 
[Hurrying through the gate.] 

Esther.. 
[Sinking agitatedly on curved seat.] Ah — poor Rich- 
ard — . 

Swift. 
He sails tonight? For what port, Esther? 

Esther. 
For — for America. 

Swift. 
[Mistaking her agitation as he moves to behind the 
curved seat.] Esther — Richard's a fine fellow — the 
makings of a splendid man — He truly loves you, I'm sure. 



114 DEAN SWIFT 

Esther. 
[With rising bosom.] Ah — cannot you understand 
that—. 

Swift. 
But, since a woman must marry — why not take a 
master whose faults are known to her? 

Esther. 
Marry — Richard ? No — No — . 

Swift. 
[More lightly.] Ah — 'tis because you love another? 

Esther. 
Yes — yes — . 

Swift. 
Some Court dandy — berufTed and bef rilled? 

Esther. 
[Suddenly rising and facing him, her words a torrent.] 
Ah — you shall know all now — though you might have 
guessed it long ago — [with extended arms and trans- 
figured looks.] Swift — SWIFT — . 

Swift. 
[Recoiling.] ESTHER—. 

Esther. 
[Sobbingly.] Ah Swift — I was nothing till you taught 
me how to think — to love what you loved — to despise 
what you despised — . 

Swift. 
[Coming from behind seat.] Esther — as there's a God 
in heaven I never dreamed of this — . 



DE AN SWIF T 115 

Esther. 
You have made me what I am and I am yours — 
[about to throw herself on his breast.] 

Swift. 
[Taking her hands instead.] My child — [Falling on 
seat with covered eyes.] 

Esther. 
[Dropping at his knee.] You are my all — on earth — in 
heaven — [Her head upon his knee.] 

Swift. 
[Brokenly, looking down on her.] Child — Tis 
blasphemy ! [Struggling for self-control while he gently 
touches her hair.] Esther — [Lifting her face.] Listen. 
You shall know me as I am — a miserable wretch — hawk- 
ing his few talents about the earth — grovelling before 
yonder Tory lords for the pittance they've promised me — 
a bishop's gown — [agitated, silent a moment.] 

Esther. 
Ah Swift — [looking up and laying her hand on his 
shoulder.] 

Swift. 
[Preventing this. With anguish.] Listen, child. For 
years I've been like a blasted tree — . 

Esther. 
[Startled, pityingly.] Swift — . 

Swift. 
For what the world calls genius has oft been near to 
madness — and there have been hours when I have been 
mad — when it would have been better to flee away — . 



116 DEAN SWIFT 

Esther. 
Then take me with you — and were this madness to over- 
take you — Ah — let me be your slave till then — your will- 
ing slave — . 

Swift. 
[Mournfully.] And is this the reward of all my 
teachings ? 

Esther. 
I love you — I love you ! 

Swift. 
[Taking her hand.] This hand — so white — these lips 
so eloquent o' promises were I so base as to accept the 
sacrifice — [Rising and lifting her to her feet. In lighter 
tones.] Nay, child — keep thy sweet self for a worthier 
than I—. 

[Confused sounds come from banquet-room door. 
Laughter, the Duchess' angry tones. Swift puts Esther 
behind him, his eyes to right. Molly rushes through 
banquet-room down to Esther.] 

Molly. 
[With tears, clasping her sister.] Esther — my poor 
Esther — . 

Swift. 
[Eyeing the banquet-room door as he pushes the girls 
to gate.] Go — Go — Esther — Molly — my coach at foot of 
the lane — Patrick'll see ye safely home — . 

Molly. 
[Half -dragging Esther to gate.] Come — Esther — 
come — . 

Esther. 
[With appealing arms to Swift.] Swift — Swift — . 



DEAN SWIFT 117 

Swift. 
[Watching door intently as he waves the girls to go.] 
Go — Go — I'll see ye tomorrow — [Molly carries Esther 
through gate and off to right. Swift, at centre, awaits 
affairs with tranquil look.] 

Duchess. 
[Coming from banquet-room with look of fury. Guests 
follow her on with suppressed laughter, gaily anticipating 
her defeat at the hands of Swift. Lovelace is in the 
crowd, being jostled and teased by the others, his jacket 
now on. Coming down.] A liar, is he? An' the sword 
of a British noble's to be broken like a common flail ? 

Oxford. 
[Coming down from door quickly. Sternly.] Your 
Grace — this uproar — in my garden? 

Duchess. 
But, Oxford, the Dean's to blame. My nephew, pacin' 
the woods yonder — . 

Swift. v 

[Merrily.] Gazin' at the moon — . 

Duchess. 
Was set on by a rascally friend o' the Dean's — . 

Swift. 
Who wounded him — in the back! [Laughter of guests.] 

Oxford. 
If your Grace will take your departure — . 

Duchess. 
[Throwing herself on curved seat.] But how can I, 
Lord Treasurer, when I have no coach? 



118 DEAN SWIFT 

Swift. 
[Pointing meaningly to left.] You'll find your coach — 
there ! 

Duchess. 
Pooh! My nephew's love-affairs are no concern o' 
mine. 

Swift. 
Hah — convicted! Then get ye to Blenhiem afoot! 

Duchess. 
How dare ye, Swift — How dare ye — ? [Mopping her 
eyes.] 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Swift — Lord Treasurer — [Deprecatingly.] Her Grace 
came here in my coach. 

Oxford. 
In your coach? Hah — . 

Swift. 
[Laughingly.] Oxford, we Tories need a new Secre- 
tary. [Oxford crosses to Bolingbroke, removes the 
badge from his breast and turns to Swift.] 

Swift. 
To Lewis — Yes. [Bolingbroke falls on curved seat 
with covered eyes. Oxford meets Lewis at centre, places 
the badge on his breast.] 

Guests. 
Lewis — Lewis — Secretary of State — [clap hands, 
Lewis bows.] 

Oxford. 
Lewis, your first official duty — to the palace and bring 
back to us Swift's commission. [Swift is surrounded, 
applauded. He smiles as if sure now of victory. Ox- 



DE AN SWIF T 119 

ford beckons the belted footman, speaks to him. The 
footman detaches the left flambeaux, goes to gate. Lewis 
follows quickly, both heads seen as they go along the road 
below the grillwork. The Duchess sits on the curved 
seat, a little space away from Bolingbroke, her back to 
him.] Come, Swift, come, friends, back to table. [Swift 
and Oxford go up steps and enter banquet-room. Guests 
follow with backward looks at the Duchess which she 
tries to ignore. Door closed.] 

Lovelace. 
Come, Aunt — [Going to her.] 

Duchess. 
[Striking him with her fan, tearfully.] Be silent, ye 
young fool. See where your "love-affairs" ha' landed me. 
Beaten — Beaten — Sarah o' Marlbro — Beaten by an Irish 
parson ! Oh — Oh — . 

Bolingbroke. 
[Mopping his eyes.] Disgraced — ruined! 

Duchess. 
Looke, Bolingbroke — since the Tories have kicked ye 
out, why not come wi' us Whigs ? 

Bolingbroke. 
Leave my party? Never! 

Duchess. 
But ye well know that — [in lower tone] if the Queen's 
illness is mortal the Tory Ministry falls. If ye'll come in 
wi' us now, I'll help make ye Premier — . 

Bolingbroke. 
[Rising and mopping his eyes.] Even at that price — . 



120 DE AN SWIF T 

Duchess. 
What — ye refuse a Premiership? 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Yes — even at that price. [Saluting.] Goodnight, your 
Grace. 

Duchess. 
[Crossly.] Goodnight an' ye can take your coach wi' ye. 

BOLINGBROKE. 

But — your Grace — . 

Duchess. 
Yes. Ye mean that as Swift has ordered me out o' 
these gardens — [Throwing herself on curved seat.] But 
here I stay a bit longer, just the same. 

BOLINGBROKE. 

If you think to outwit the Dean even now — ? 

Duchess. 
Aye — even if his commission lies in her Majesty's 
chamber. Which does not prove that she has signed it. 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Ah — thank heaven, I can assure you that she has. 

Duchess. 
WHAT ! ! When all afternoon she has lain helpless ! ! 
I'll not believe it! 

BOLINGBROKE. 

But, this morning I saw it signed and sealed. 

Duchess. 
[Collapsing.] So Swift wins after all! 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Yes. Goodnight, your Grace — [Exit at gate.] 



DE AN SWIF T 121 



Lovelace. 



[Coming from left.] Aunt, maybe you'll come home 
with me now. 

Duchess. 

[Fiercely waving him away.] No — no — no — Not even 
now! 

Lovelace. 

Then you'll remain here, like a sick cat on a doorstep? 
Be sensible, Aunt — Come awa}^. 

Duchess. 

Aha — not while there's one chance in a million left. 
I'll sit me here an' wait for that chance. So ye may run 
along. 

Lovelace. 

But since you can't get home afoot, I'll wait for you in 
the woods yonder — [Exit again through left shrubbery.] 

[The Duchess walks agitatedly about a moment. Then, 
looking to right, she notes the head of the belted footman 
above the grillwork as he makes his way*, to gate. She 
retreats to behind shrubbery at foot of the right pedestal. 
The following in rapid pantomime: The footman enters 
gate, in his hand a roll of parchment with flaring red seal 
and ribbons. At his heels follows the Indian, dagger in 
hand. The footman, unaware of this, runs up the steps. 
The mute follows, stabs him, tears off the footman's belt 
and trusses the body. The parchment rolls down the steps. 
The Duchess rushes out, seizes it and swiftly tears the 
seal, reading it eagerly. The mute tosses the body over the 
grillwork to road. Then, seeing his mistress and fearing 
punishment, he runs down, kneels beside her. A wave of 
her hand assures him, he takes his place stolidly beyond 
her.] 



122 BE AN SWIF T 



Duchess. 



[In triumph.] Tis Swift's commission! His commis- 
sion for Canterbury ! ! [Making as if to destroy it. Then, 
laughing.] Not yet — not yet — Ah — [Seeing Harcourt 
as he hurries along road beyond grillwork to gate, the 
Duchess again retreats, this time behind left pedestal, 
motioning the mute to follow.] 

Harcourt. 

[Entering gate with agitation. Looking round for 
Swift. Then running to right.] The Queen — The 
Queen — [running up steps and into the banquet-room. A 
moment later cries of "The Queen" and u poor lady," 
from the banquet-room door. The guests stream on and 
down the steps, agitated, tearful, Oxford leading. A 
moment later Swift enters, coming calmly down, self- 
controlled but prepared for the worst.] 

Oxford. 

[Agitatedly, dismayed.] Swift — you've heard Har- 
court's report — of her Majesty's probably fatal illness? 

Swift. 

Yes, I've heard. What about my commission, Lord 
Treasurer ? 

Oxford. 

Heaven grant it has been signed — [Guests point to 
Lewis, seen beyond the grillwork as he hurries toward 
gate.] 

Lewis. 

[Entering gate with agitation.] Swift — Oxford — 
You've heard? [falling on curved seat with covered eyes.] 



DEAN SWIFT 123 

Swift. 
[With low laugh.] Aye, Lewis — we've heard. But 
let's leave the poor lady to Him that made her. For a 
smaller matter concerns us now. My commission — . 

Lewis. 
Which I sent, signed and sealed, ten minutes ago by 
Oxford's footman — . 

Swift. 
Which — aha — has not yet arrived? 

Lewis. 
Wait. As I raced the road yonder my foot struck 
something — . 

Guests. 
[Peering down over grillwork.] The footman — the 
footman — . 

Swift. 
[Accepting fate calmly.] Humph — ha ha — . 

Oxford. i 

By heaven, if the Queen live but another hour she 
shall — [moving to gate.] 

Lewis. 

But, Oxford — the Queen is dead. [Renewed cries of 

sorrow from guests.] Ah, Swift, the footman must have 

been waylaid — [The Duchess steps boldly into view, but 

NOT the Indian. The commission is NOT in her hand.] 

Swift. 
[Meaningly, looking at the Duchess with a half -smile.] 
And dead men tell no tales, eh? 



124 DE AN SWIF T 

Duchess. 

[Merrily.] Ha-ha — sir Dean, ye'll be for havin' me 
drawn an' quartered yet — [Swift ignores her. Loud 
cries come from road. A mob, carrying banners and 
torches, comes from right and past gate. Stones begin 
to fall into the garden, catcalls, hisses and "Down zvith 
the Tories/' Oxford, Lewis and Harcourt go among 
guests to calm them. Two footmen rush on and fasten 
gate, remain there. The Duchess rushes up steps to grill- 
work, tears off her mantle and waves it to those below. 
Cries of "Marlbro — Marlbro" — come from mob. Swift 
stands smilingly down front listening to the cries. Sud- 
denly the Duchess rushes down, beckons to the Indian 
who leaves the left pedestal and joins her. Following her 
gestures, he snatches the parchment from his sash, puts it 
between his teeth, climbs the right pedestal, and tosses the 
parchment into the flambeau, where it begins to blaze. 
He slips down again to stand stolidly at right with folded 
arms.] 

Lewis. 

[Seeing this too late, rushes to Swift and points to the 
blazing parchment.] Swift — your commission — . 

Swift. 
[Barely glancing at it over his shoulder.] Aye, Lewis — 
aye — [With a shrug.] 

Duchess. 
[Coming to Swift and indicating the mob. Genially.] 
D'ye hear 'em, Swift? 

Swift. 
[As genially.] Your Grace's relatives, eh? 

Duchess. 
An' lightin' the g-r-e-a-t Dean — to oblivion! 



DE AN SWIF T 125 

Swift. 
Mighty civil of 'em, ma'am. [With a gesture toward 
burning parchment, his voice growing stern, his look such 
that the Duchess recoils.] But yonder smaller fire — . 
If the Dean say the word — THE LAW — to which even a 
Duchess must bow — the law will consign a certain impu- 
dent female to the Tower — for life! [The Duchess re- 
treats to right as if in fear as a loud knocking begins at 
gate. The mob has passed off. Oxford motions to a 
footman at gate. The footman unbars it.] 

Ford. 
[Entering quickly and looking eagerly round. Loudly.] 
The Dean — I demand to see the Dean — . 

Swift. 
[Meeting Ford at centre. Quickly.] Ford — here — 
in London? 

Ford. 
This instant arrived — [seizing Swift's arm] Mistress 
Stella—. 

Swift. 
[Recoiling.] Stella — Quick Ford, out with your 
news — . Stella is — . 

Ford. 
Ill— ill unto death—. 

Swift. 

Unto Death — f Come — Ford — come — [both hurrying 
to gate.] 

Oxford. 

[In dismay.] Swift — you are leaving us at such a 
timet 



126 DE AN SW IF T 

Swift. 

[Near gate. Over his shoulder.] Aye, Oxford — and 
this time — forever. Come, Ford, to Dublin and to 
Stella—. 

[Swift and Ford leaving gate. Deep boom of cannon. 
Oxford and his Ministry despairing at curved seat. Guests 
continue to murmur. Two footmen go about extinguish- 
ing the lanterns, the moon rises on distant sky.] 

End of the Third Act. 



ACT FOURTH. SCENE FIRST. 

Sitting-room of the Deanery, Dublin, Two Months 
Later. Morning in October. The room has lost some 
of its attractiveness. The chairs are set primly against 
rear wall. The wire stand of plants and the green 
boughs in the chimney-place are no longer there. The 
round table is piled high with newspapers. Swift's 
chair is now to right of table, facing directly left. On 
the right wall hangs an English flag, large letter 
T on its centre. 

Dingley stands at table with a sour look, trying to bring 
order out of chaos, pausing now and then to read a 
printed newspaper heading with a sneer. Patrick 
stands behind her, feather duster in hand, prepared to 
flick furniture, but slyly listening to Dingley and re- 
pressing enthusiasm. 

Dingley. 
[Reading.] " 'Gainst Evictions." Humph — and a very 
good way to be rid o' a bad tenant — to chase him into the 
open — "Right to Manufacture — ." 

Patrick. 
Huru-ur. [Refraining to cheer.] 

Dingley. 
When from England they can buy all they need an' 
better than they cud ever make it — As for this Copper 
Coinage — the Dean won the victory for them there — bad 
luck to't — . 



128 DEAN SWIFT 

Patrick. 
Huzz-a — . 

DlNGLEY. 

And here's a demand for "Liberty." Faith — if they 
had it they'd not know what to do wi' it — Liberty for- 
sooth — . 

Patrick. 
Huzzaha-a-a — . 

Dingle y. 
[Wheeling on him and facing him off to right.) What 
are ye doing here, ye lazy clout — pi'zinin' the air wi' your 
bawlin' — Be off — be off to your pantry — . 

Patrick. 
Yis'm — yis'm — [exits door 3.] 

DlNGLEY. 

[Returning to table.] Sure — sin' the Dean's returned 
the whole island's gone mad on "Liberty." 

Ford. 

[Entering door 1 smiling, bouquet in hand behind 
him.] Morning, Mistress Dingley — [Slyly placing 
bouquet on mantel-shelf .] 

DlNGLEY. 

[Half -sullenly.] Morning, Mister Ford — . 

Ford. 
Still helping the Dean with his newspapers? 

DlNGLEY. 

Aye — and a weary task it's been these two months. 
It wasn't eno' that Swift meddled with the business o' 
Queen Anne but he must be directin' the affairs o' her 
successor, the new King — . 



DEAN SWIFT 129 

Ford. 
Bravo the Dean! [Coming to help at table.] 

Dingley. 
Sure, Swift, these two months has set fire to every soul 
on Irish sod — From the beggars to the nobility — makin' 
'em think what he thinks an' makin' 'em see what he 
wants 'em to see — ! Faith, his name is on every lip an' 
they say his picture's on every wall — . 

Ford. 
Bravo, the Dean — . 

Dingley. 
Tis said that already there's a price on the head o' the 
writer o' those Drapier letters, which [looking round, in 
lower tones] the whole of Ireland knows is Swift — . 

Ford. 
And not a soul of them'll take the reward that is of- 
fered — . 

Dingley. 
Aye — an' though his Oxfords and his Bolingbrokes are 
swept away — [pointing to the flag] look there — . 

Ford. 
Viva Swift — still King of Tories! 

Dingley. 
[Jealously.] Ay — ye never saw fault in the Dean — . 

Ford. 
Nor ever will, Mistress Dingley. Where's the Dean 
this morning? 

Dingley. 
In garden wi' Mistress Stella. 



130 BE AN SWIF 1 

Ford. 
Ah — good news indeed! 

Dingley. 
Ah — he's mighty tender to her now — . 

Ford. 
[Laughing.] Now, now, Mistress Dingley — . 

Dingley. 
[Snorting.] Humph! [After a moment, in lower 
tone.] D'ye think that Swift's done wi' — that other? 

Ford. 
[Purposely dense.] What other? 

Dingley. 
Why — his Lunnun charmer — Mistress Esther — . 

Ford. 
Sh-h — [warningly. ] 

Dingley. 
[Snorting.] Humph. [After a moment.] But — d'ye 
think he's done wi' her? 

Ford. 
Yes — yes. Quite done with her. I'm sure of it — . 

Dingley. 
[Snatching a package of letters from drawer to table.] 
Well— he's NOT done wi' her — See — Letters arrivin' 
every week — arrivin' whilst my poor Stella lay on her bed 
almost dying — [beginning to mop her eyes.] 

Ford. 
[Peering at but not touching letters. In triumph.] But 
ma'am, they are unopened! 



DE AN SWIF T 131 

DlNGLEY. 

[Making sure of it. With regret.] Aye, so they are! 
But — what's to prevent the Dean answerin' 'em later — ? 

Ford. 

[Displeased look, moving from table.] Mistress Ding- 
ley — . 

DlNGLEY. 

[Half -weeping.] Ah, Mister Charles— 'tis NOT that 
I hate the Dean — no — no — 'tis not that at all. 'Tis that 
he's been so blind to the love my poor lamb has had for 
him — so blind these many years — the Dean — that's 
crossed the channel but two months ago — . 

Ford. 
To aid his Tory friends — . 

DlNGLEY. 

[Passionately.] To his Lunnun charmer's arms — to 
her arms! Hasn't Mistress White's letters told on him — 
How he was spending his free hours from court to tach 
a lovely girl how to speak Latin, Greek and, 'tis reported — 
love? Ah — 'tis no wonder that — that I Jiate him! [Re- 
placing letters in drawer. Seeing the bouquet, crossing 
and bringing it to right.] A love that even yourself 'd be 
proud to win — . 

Ford. 

[Bowing with hand on heart.] Thanks, [Dingley goes 
to door 3.] But wait — . 

Dingley. 

[Purposely dense, going.] These shall adorn the dear 
girl's own chamber — . 



132 DEAN SWIFT 

Ford. 
Mistress Dingley — Those letters — Mistress Stella must 
not know of those letters — . 

Dingley. 
An' why not? Twould sarve the Dean right to expose 
him — . 

Ford. 
What — would you lose him Stella? 

Dingley. 
Aye — an' would carry her off — to England! [Exits 
door 3.] 

Ford. 

[Staring after her.] To England!! [In troubled 
thought a moment.] 

Delany. 

[Entering quickly door 1, radiant looks, sprig of green 
in coat.] Morning, Ford. 

Ford. 
Ah, Delaney — In gala attire? 

Delany. 
Which all Dublin'll wear this day — Swift's birthday ! 
Did ye notice the crowds round his Cathedral door — the 
flags on every house? Faith, St. Patrick's will not be 
half big enough to hold his admirers at service. Where 
is the Dean — where? 

Ford. 
In garden with Mistress Stella — 

Delany. 

[Turning to go.] In garden, eh? 



DE AN SWIF T 133 

Ford. 

[Laughing and intercepting him.] What — man — 
would you intrude? 

Delany. 
An' why not, Ford? 

Ford. 
[Meaningly.] But Swift — and Mistress Stella! 

Delany. 
Ah-h — ! But, looke, Ford, today's NO day for the 
Dean to be me-anderin' about wi' a petticoat — [pose of 
orator.] Wi' his country prostrate under the fut av her 
oppressors [Ford reads a newspaper with patient smile] 
wi' a tax on aven the leather o' her bare-f utted peasantry — 
[noting Ford's lack of attention. Hoarsely, confiden- 
tially] Hist — Ford — a surprise for the Dean — . 

Ford. 
A surprise? 

Delany. 
A surprise — and — a halo — a h-a-1-o-o — . 

Ford. 
A halo? 

Delany. 
Wait an' see — [hurrying left] wait an' see — [exits 
door 1.] 

[After a moment Patrick comes from door 2 followed 
by a choir-boy carefully bearing Swift's lustrous, black 
silken gown.] 

Ford. 
Ah, Patrick — the Dean's best gown and 'tis NOT Sun- 
day? 

Patrick. 
Tis for Thanksgivin' Sarvice, sor — . 



134 DE AN SW IF T 

Ford. 
Oh — and the Dean must look his best today? 

Patrick. 
Aye, Masther Ford — . 

Ford. 
Has Archbishop arrived yet? 

Patrick. 

Not yet, sor — [playfully cuffing choir-boy's ear and 
pushing him to right.] Be off, now — an' kape the Dean's 
best gown fro' thrailin' — [Exit boy door 3. Patrick to 
door 2.] 

[Swift enters door 1 half -bearing Stella. She is pale, 
but smiling, in simple gray dress, in her hand a bunch of 
tulips. Swift's face is also radiant. Ford comes down 
quickly, but Swift slightly edges him aside, jealously, as 
he brings Stella to settee, placing her there with little 
cries of affection, touches for her comfort. ] See, Ford, 
the color in her cheek, the sparkle in her eyes — . 'Tis 
the first time in garden in three long months. Ah, child — 
art given back to us — for which thanks be to Almighty 
God—. 

Stella. 
[Offering her hand.] Charles — . 

Ford. 
[With emotion, kissing her hand.] Mistress Stella — . 

Stella. 

And see — the last o' the Dean's tulips — though he for- 
gives me for wanting them — . 



DEAN SWIFT 135 

Ford. 
[Retaining the hand but looking at Stella.] How 
lovely — but how frail — . 

Swift. 
[Half -bant eringly, edging Ford aside again.] Is't 
Mistress Stella or the tulips you mean — ? 

Ford. 
[Stepping back confused.] Ah, Swift — . 

Stella. 
[Playfully, to Swift.] Mister Dean — . 

Swift. 
Forgive me, child. Now, thy medicine — [hurrying to 
door 2. Half -bant eringly.] And looke, Ford — no more 
flatteries — [exit door 2.] 

Stella. 
Charles — you've been so kind — so kind these weary 
months — . 

Ford. 
And am repaid — since the Deanery has gotten back its 
mistress — [Taking her hand, earnest, lower tone.] And 
the Dean — ah, Mistress Stella — be kind to him. 

Stella. 
[Understanding, averting her face.] Have I not al- 
ways been "kind" to Swift? 

Ford. 
Be more than kind — be generous! 

Stella. 
[Sweetly. Giving her hand.] Ah, Charles — 'twill be 
an easy task. 



136 DE AN SWIF T 

Ford. 
[Kissing her hand.] Then I am content. [From be- 
yond door 1, rises a rollicking melody from a band. Cries 
of "The Dane" — and "Copper Coinage" — "Right to manu- 
facture"— "Liberty"— "The D-A-N-E—"] 

Swift. 
[Coming from door 2, a small glass of medicine in hand. 
Frowning.] That uproar — when my orders were that — 
during Mistress Stella's illness — . 

Ford. 

[Laughing.] But — since half Dublin's seen you both 
walking in the garden — [Swift gives Stella the glass, 
she drinks, returns glass to Ford who places it beyond.] 

[Rollicking melody now just beyond door. Delany, 
followed by a dozen citizens with sprigs of green in coats, 
enters. Without saluting the others, Delany intently 
places his friends in a straight line along rear wall. 
Swift throws himself into his chair to endure. Through 
the open door is seen the green-coated band playing away, 
beyond them a cheering crowd of men. His task finished, 
Delany motions to left, the music and cheers fade off. 
Ford stands behind Stella and both watch the scene with 
happy interest.] 

Delany. 

[Coming to stand before Swift in pose of orator.] 
Mister Dean — . 

Stella. 

[Grimly.] Now, Delany — get it off your mind. 

Delany. 
Congratulations, sor — Your birthday — . 

Swift. 
Pooh— What of it? 



DE AN SWIF T 137 

Delany. 
Which Erin's to number — hereafter, in her annual fes- 
tivals — . 

Swift. 

No — no — I forbid — [Cheers from door. Angrily.] 
Someone close that door. [A young reporter, pencil and 
book in hand, leaves the line in rear, crosses to door 1 
gently waves crowd back, closes door and remains there, 
taking copy. Delany brings down each friend and mutely 
presents them. Swift almost rudely ignores them. They 
show no resentment, retiring to rear as Patrick comes 
from door 2 zvith a large tray, on which many glasses of 
liquid. Music soft now.] 

Delany. 

[At centre, pose of orator.] Mister Dean — fellow citi- 
zens — 'tis an occasion — 'tis an occasion — [looking, about 
him.] Faith — something's wantin' — [Patrick nudges his 
elbow with tray. Delany brings a glass to Swift who 
rudely declines it. Ford brings one to Stella, and one for 
himself. Patrick makes the rounds. Raising Swift's 
rejected glass to Stella.] To the Dean's inspiration for 
many a day — [cheers. Stella half -rises, embarrassed, yet 
smiling, sitting again.] Gentlemen^here's to Irish Lib- 
erty — may Erin have the pr-r-roud pr-r-rivilege o' wavin' 
waistcoats for all av us an' thr-r-rousers for those that are 
left — [laughter. Oblivious to his own bull.] May Erin — . 

[Loud cheers from outside. Citizens point to the two- 
paned window over door 1 where the head and shoulders 
of a man appear, in his hand a laurel wreath. Cries be- 
yond — "THE DEAN" — Delany crosses to Swift, 
mutely points to wreath, wanting him to speak. Swift 
refuses. Delany takes counsel with his friends. They 
urge him forward. He goes to left, the wreath is dropped 
into his hand. From then on the man in window panto- 



138 D E A N tf W 1 F T 

mimes to those without what takes place in the room, 
thus directing the cheers. Delany blows his nose, clears 
his throat, wreath in hand and pose of orator, begins, 
with strong emotion and with eloquence, facing Swift but 
addressing citizens. ] 

Fellow-citizens — we are gathered here today to celebrate 
the birthday of the man — who — these many months, has 
fought and won for us so many civic victories. A strong 
soul — a brilliant mind — a tender heart. Fellow-citizens, 
time may come and time may go — but the name of Jono- 
than Swift will not only adorn the pages of History — but 
will be enshrined within every Irish heart — FOREVER. 
[Crossing to Swift, to loud applause, Delany hangs the 
wreath on the high back of Swift's chair — where it forms 
a "halo" for his head. Then, joining his friends, all crying 
as they go to left, the man at window dropping from sight, 
"To Lord Mayor" — "To Lord Mayor" — "Freedom of 
City" — "Freedom of City" — the band playing, all hurry- 
ing off. Ford salutes Stella, then Swift, and follows 
after. Door 1 closed. Melody and voices fade off as Pat- 
rick exits with glasses door 2.] 

Swift. 

[Making sure that door 1 is closed. Grimly.] Thank 
heaven — that's over! 

Stella. 
[Radiant.] But — your name on the pages of history — . 

Swift. 

I'll thank History to leave my name in peace — wi' the 
dust that shall be me — the peace that I've ne'er found on 
earth — [Coming to Stella. Remorsefully.] Pale shadow 
of my darling girl — . 



BE AN 8WIF T 139 

Stella. 
[To comfort him.] Nay, Swift — 'twas only that you 
were so long away — ! 

Swift. 
[Bitterly.] Aye — away chasm' shadows — will-o'-the- 
wisps that blinded me to the true gold within my Deanery 
walls — . 

Stella. 
But now that you are home again — . 

Swift. 
Never again to leave it — [Moodily, taking her hand.] 
Some day you'll be givin' this little hand away — leaving 
the Deanery to brighten some good man's home — . 

Stella. 
No — no — Swift — I shall never leave you — . 

Swift. 
[Suddenly moving off, pondering. Then humbly.] 
Child, there's but one way to make me sure of that — 
[Stella's radiant look shows she understands.] Tell 
me — could ye be happy for life — wi' a man that's often 
moody and sometimes mad? 

Stella. 
[Half -rising, radiant.] Swift — dear Swift — [coming 
to him.] 

Swift. 
[Waving her to wait.] Think well, child — 'Tis a sac- 
rifice I ask of you — . 

Stella. 
A sacrifice? 'Tis an honor— AN HONOR— I will 
have it so — [running to his embrace.] 



140 BE AN SW IF T 

Swift. 
[Humbly, kissing her hand.] Ah-h — I'm not worthy 
so sweet a gift — . 

Stella. 
Ah, Swift — [her head on his breast.] 

Swift. 
Not worthy — . 

Stella. 
And I've loved you so long — so long — . 

Swift. 
[Moodily.] And I — that was ever blind — . 

Patrick. 

[Coming from door 2.\ Yer Rivirence — . 

Swift. 
[Frowning, instantly releasing Stella.] What now, 
sirrah ? 

Patrick. 
Archbishop waits in Cathedral — . 

Swift. 
[Imperiously.] Bid him await my pleasure — [Stella 
gently touches his arm, smiles. Swift's face clears. In 
softer tone to Patrick.] Ask of Archbishop ten minutes 
to enrobe — [Patrick salutes, exits door 2.] And thou, 
child, shalt meet me after service — . 

Stella. 
[Falteringly.] After — service — . 

Swift. 
In sacristy — . 



DEAN SWIFT 141 

Stella. 
In — sacristy — . 

Swift. 
Then straight to the altar-rails of my cathedral — where 
the Archcbishop shall make of thee my wife — . 

Stella. 
Thy wife — till death do us part — . 

Swift. 
Amen ! [ His arm about her, he takes her to right. 
Stella slips from his arms as if to open door 3. Then 
pausing there she looks radiantly back at Swift, throwing 
wide her arms. Swift, staring at her under his hand, 
backs to centre. Stella comes to him quickly. Swift, 
with a strange, hoarse cry of complete surrender, kisses 
her, LINGERINGLY, on the lips.] 

Stella. 
Art happy now, Swift? 

Swift. 
At last — at last ! 

Stella, v 
Ah-h — [running from his embrace to door 3. Waving 
her hand there with radiant smile.] To sacristy — to 
sacristy — [ exits. ] 

[Swift looks after her, sighs deeply, happily, stares 
round him as if in another world. Lifts the tulips from the 
settee, tenderly touches them with his lips, then places 
them on bookshelf.] 

[Jeems, in traveling dress, a letter in the hand behind 
him, with embarrassed looks, opens door 1, looks about, 
then enters.] Ahem — Dr. Swift — your Reverence — . 



142 DE AN SWIF T 

Swift. 
[Turning, with pleased look.] Ah, 'tis Jeems, in Dub- 
lin, so far from London — . 

Jeems. 
Yes sir — [looking down.] 

Swift. 
Then you've left the good ladies Van Homrigh — . 
[Sitting at table, reaching for pen and paper.] 

Jeems. 
Yes, sir — that is, sir — . 

Swift. 
'Tis a recommend for a place ye want here in Dublin? 
Shalt have it, too — [writing.] "To whom it may con- 
cern" — [Repeating the written words.] 

Jeems. 
But, sir — that is, sir — I've not left the ladies Van Hom- 
righ—. 

Swift. 
You've not? [Discarding pen and paper and rising as 
if to end the interview.] Then why are you here in 
Dublin? 

Jeems. 
Your Reverence may have heard that — that Mistress 
Esther has been ill — . 

Swift. 
[With indifference.] 111? I'm sorry, Jeems — . 

Jeems. 
These many weeks. And, 'gainst her mother's wishes, 
sir. Mistress Esther is here — . 



BE AN SW IF T 143 

Swift. 
Here— IN DUBLIN? 

Jeems. 
In her coach, sir — at your gate — . 

Swift. 
AT— MY GATE? 

Jeems. 
[Timidly presenting letter.] Her message, sir — . 

Swift. 

[Savagely, striking letter from Jeems' hand to table.] 
I'll not receive her message — [snatching the bundle of 
letters from drawer and tossing them on table.] Nor 
those — nor those — Take them back to her as I received 
them— UNOPENED ! 

Jeems. 

[Affrighted, gathering up letters and backing to door 1.] 
Yes, yes, sir — . 

Swift. 

And — wait, Jeems. Tell her — from Swift — that she 
can see the Dean no more — . [Exit Jeems door 1.] 
Here — in Dublin — when I thought I'd made it plain to her 
that — Here — at my gate — [Suddenly holding his head 
with his hands, his eyes closed, a look of agony on his 
face. Then, recovering, and staring about him as if 
waking from sleep. Sweet bells begin to chime softly.] 
Ah — 'tis past — 'tis past. And — with Stella beside me — 
all may yet be well — [Rising, going quickly to right with 
beaming face. Exits door 3.] 



144 BE AN SW IF T 

[A slight pause. Jeems cautiously peers in at door 1. 
Then he backs in, Esther, pale, weak, pushing him with 
her hands against his breast. In dark dress, cloak, a lace 
scarf over her head. Jeems still carries the bundle of 
letters.] 

Jeems. 
[Stepping aside as Esther comes down with wondering 
look and faltering step.] Stay but a moment, Mistress — . 

Esther. 
[Sinking into Swift's chair, her dreamy gaze moving 
about.] So — this is Swift's home — Swift's home. What 
said he to you, Jeems, when you told him — . 

Jeems. 
[To spare her.] Don't ask me, mistress — . 

Esther. 
[Querulously, weakly.] But I must know. Tell me, 
Jeems — . 

Jeems. 
Well, then — he — he bade me tell you to return to Lon- 
don — to your mother at once — That's all, Mistress — . 

Esther. 
Ah — he that was ever kind — . Oh — that I might see 
him face to face — to ask of him — . 

Jeems. 
[Fearing discovery.] Come, Mistress, 'tis time to go — . 

Esther. 
But — Jeems — I've come to see the Dean — . 



DE AN SWIF T 145 

Jeems. 
Yes — tomorrow — [Trying to lift her from the chair.] 
Come away — . 

Esther. 
[Resisting.] No — no — I'm so weary — I'll rest here till 
the Dean — [Patrick enters from door 2. Seeing him 
with joy.] Ah — Patrick — Patrick — . 

Patrick. 
[Coming down.] 'Tis Mistress Esther — but so changed 
— so changed — [Jeems, behind Esther, signals to Pat- 
rick.] 

Esther. 
I've been so ill, Patrick. But when I see the Dean 
again — . 

Patrick. 
[Taking Jeems' cue.] Yes, Mistress Esther— tomor- 
row — . 

Jeems. 
Come to your coach, Mistress — . 

Esther. 
No — I will not — . 

Patrick. 
But tomorrow, Miss — tomorrow — . 

Esther. 
[Rising with sudden fire.] I shall see the Dean — if at 
the altar-rails of his Cathedral — . 

Patrick. 
[To Jeems' look of dismay.] Well, then— best ye wait 
an' see him in the sacristy — . 



146 DE AN SWIF T 

Esther. 
[Eagerly.] Which way, Patrick, which way? [Moving 
to door 1.] 

Patrick. 
[Following and opening door 1, pointing off.] See that 
path yonder? 

Esther. 
Yes — yes — . 

Patrick. 
Folly it an' it'll bring ye to the sacristy door — . 

Esther. 
[Looking back gratefully.] Ah — good — kind Pat- 
rick — [Moving out, followed by Jeems. Patrick remains 
looking after them.] 



ACT FOURTH— SCENE SECOND. 

Instant rise of curtain on scene already set. 

Sacristy of St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin. A 
wide, oak-panelled room. Three doors. Door 1 at 
left opens on a sunny, grassy court ending with an 
ivy-covered wall. Door 2 in back-centre, open and 
lighted, shows several white surplices and black cas- 
socks within. Door 3 down right- front is a double 
door, leading by a corridor to the Cathedral. One side 
open at rise. Set high in the centre of the rear wall is 
a large stained-glass window, the sun shining through 
and focusing onto the massive reading-desk down 
centre, an open bible with crimson markings on same. 
At left is a baptismal font filled with bouquets, the 
donors' names on cards. A massive settee is along 
right. A stately scene, its gloom lightened by the 
stained-glass window and the bouquets. 

At Rise — People passing door 1 quickly, without looking 
into the sacristy, all going to i the Cathedral service. 
Choristers sky-larking at centre in white surplices and 
black cassocks. A tall Precentor is giving out hymnals 
and trying to keep order. Distant boom of organ and 
faint chime of bells. 

Precentor. 
Order there — order — S-h-h — [A boy comes through the 
double door with raised hand as he opens both sides of 
door, awaiting Swift.] Open hymnals — page fourteen — 
yes — page fourteen I said — S-h-h — [Swift comes 
through double door with gracious smile. All salute him.] 



148 DE AN SWIF T 

Swift. 
All's ready, Precentor? 

Precentor. 

[Indicating door 2 with salute.] All's ready, reverend 
sir — . 

Swift. 

Precentor, you must make me look grand today. For, 
after service — detain your choristers — shall want 'em 
for — Well — detain 'em — [Precentor salutes, precedes 
Swift into door 2 which he closes. Ford enters door 1. 
He looks about him, beckons a boy, whispers, the boy nods 
and points to door 2. Ford smiles, begins to read names 
on bouquets, the boy rejoins his fellows. A slight pause. 
Then Swift, stately in cassock and white surplice, comes 
from door 2, followed by the Precentor, who rejoins his 
boys at the end of the line.] 

Swift. 
[Meeting Ford at centre with beaming took.] Ford — . 

Ford. 
[Giving his hand.] Swift — . Your Cathedral is 
crowded — to see the lion of the hour — . 

Swift. 
[Laughing.] Who'll be a forgotten mouse tomorrow. 
But — I care not — for — after service Stella gives herself 
to me — . 

Ford. 

[With emotion.] Congratulations — . 

Swift. 
To me — unworthy me — Stella — the one woman I've 
always loved — And so — forever done wi' politics — 



DE AN SW IF T 149 

for — [hurried look about, in lozver tone.] Looke, Ford — 
there's often a dizziness here — [indicating brow] an al- 
most mortal agony — a sudden blank — Ah — [clasping his 
brow with closed eyes and clenched hands.] Ah-h-h — 

Ford. 

Heavens, Swift — [in deep alarm. Swift recovers.] 
Good God, sir — . 

Swift. 

[Faintly smiling.] Nay — 'tis past — 'tis past — and with 
Stella beside me — a quiet fireside — all may yet be well. 

Ford. 
[Seizing his hands.] God grant it, sir. 

Swift. 
Then — after service — here in sacristy? 

Ford. 

With all my heart — my soul — [wringing Swift's hand, 
turning and exits door 3. Swift looks after him with 
beaming smile. The Preceftor brings an open hymnal 
to Swift, salutes, goes to the last of the double line of 
boys, Swift follows, chanting with the rest as they slowly 
move to double door, the organ as accompaniment.] 

PROCESSIONAL: 

O — worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness — 
Beauty of holiness — beauty of holiness — . 
Let the whole earth stand in awe of Him — 
Awe of Him — awe of Him — . 
Be Thou exalted above the heavens — 
And let Thy glory be above all the earth — . 
O — worship the Lord — 
Worship — the L-o-r-d — . 



150 DE AN SWI F T 

[All exit through double door which closes, the voices 
gradually die, the organ continuing softly, the bells now 
silent.] 

[A slight pause. Stella enters door 1. She wears the 
same dress, a gray cape and a small bonnet of gray, its 
ribbons tied under her chin. She looks radiantly happy 
and enters quickly, making for the settee, on which she 
sits. Dingley follows. In dark dress, shawl and bonnet, 
with sour look, red-rimmed eyes, a handkerchief in her 
hand. She follows Stella more slowly, making for the 
double door and listening there with set lips.] 

Stella. 
Dingley dear — [Dingley pretends not to hear.] Ding- 
ley — come here — [patting the seat near her.] 

Dingley. 
Then we're not to enter Cathedral — . 

Stella. 
No — no — . 

Dingley. 
Not to hear those silly Irish rej'icin'? 

Stella. 
The Dean's wishes are, that we await him here in sac- 
risty — . 

Dingley. 

Humph — [crossing unwillingly and sitting on settee.] 

Stella. 
Ah — Dingley — [leaning her head on Dingley's shoul- 
der.] I'm so happy — so happy — Ah-h — . 

Dingley. 
It tuck Swift a 1-o-n-g time to make up his mind — . 



DEAN SWIFT 151 

Stella. 
Now — now — Dingley dear — . 

Dingley. 
Ow-w-w — [sobbing into her handkerchief .] 

Stella. 
[An arm about Dingley.] There, there, dear — never 
weep when I'm so happy — . 

Dingley. 
[Getting away from Stella.] Lave me alone — lave 
me alone — . As for Swift — isn't he takin' ye away from 
me? 

Stella. 
'Deed — 'deed — nothing will be changed — . 

Dingley. 
I know better — [imitating Swift's grand manner.] 
It'll be "Mistress Dingley — the room for self and wife" 
or "To almshouse wi' ye, Dingley. Yer ould — an' use- 
less—." 

Stella. 
[Coldly.] Ah — you've always hated the Dean — and 
for no reason! 

Dingley. 
For no reason, is't? Was it "no reason" that ye fell 
ill because of him — "no reason" that — because o' his other 
charmer — . 

Stella. 
[Rising to move off.] MISTRESS DINGLEY—. 

Dingley. 
[Remorseful, catching her dress.] Child — child — can't 
ye see that I'm only jealous? 



152 DEAN SWIFT 

Stella. 
Yet could coin a lie 'gainst the man I love? 

Dingley. 
[Fiercely, rising.} 'Tis NO lie — and lest I telle more — 
[making for door 1.] 

Stella. 
[Intercepting and bringing her down.] Now — tell me 
all — ALL — or I must believe that Mistress Dingley is — . 

Dingley. 
A LIAR? Take it, then! Whilst ye lay ill Swift's 
other charmer writ letters to him — . 

Stella. 
[Recoiling.] Writ — letters — to Swift? 

Dingley. 
Aye — a dozen of 'em — I've held 'em in my two hands — . 

Stella. 
No — no — I'll not believe — I'll not believe — [yet show- 
ing she DOES.] 

Dingley. 

Ford saw 'em, too — the dozen of 'em — . 

Stella. 

For d saw? [Falling on settee to rock back and forth 
with tears.] 

Dingley. 

[Distracted with remorse, kneeling beside her.] Child — 
child — Listen to me — 'twas all a lie — . 

Stella. 
Ah — Swift is false to me — . 



DEAN SWIFT 153 

DlNGLEY. 

Nay — listen. Tis a lie — . 

Stella. 
False to me — . 

DlNGLEY. 

[Seizing Stella's hands.] Listen, child. [Stella 
pauses to listen.] 'Twas all a lie — a lie — There were NO 
letters — . 

Stella. 

DlNGLEY!!! 

DlNGLEY. 

I swear it — not a single letter — . 'Twas a wicked lie — . 

Stella. 
[Mopping her eyes.] Ah — thou jealous Dingley — . 

DlNGLEY. 

My little Stella — poor lamb — Canst forgive me? 

Stella. 
[Sweetly, kissing her.] Yes — I can — I do — Ah — thou 
naughty Dingley — . 

DlNGLEY. 

[Humbly, kissing her hand.] Sweet child — . 

[Through door 1 Esther enters, followed by Jeems 
still carrying the letters. Jeems remains near door 1. 
Esther comes slowly down with faltering step and 
dreamy look, pausing near the reading-desk.] 

Stella. 
[To Dingley, pointing to Esther, with a look of 
suspicion.] Dingley — . 



154 BE AN SWIF T 

DlNGLEY. 

[Her face wearing the same look.] Aye, aye — [taking 
her place behind Stella with set lips.] 

Stella. 
[Coldly, distinctly.] Madam? 

Esther. 
[Startled look toward settee.] Ah — ! 

Stella. 
Madam, your name? 

Esther. 
[Timidly.] Tis Esther Van Homrigh — . 

Stella. 
[To Dingley.] 'TIS SHE! [Dingley nods.] 

Esther. 
And, madam — yours? 

Stella. 
[Proudly.] 'Tis Stella Johnson — ! 

Esther. 
[With startled look, to herself.] 'TIS SHE ! 

Stella. 
And — your errand here? 

Esther. 
[Pleadingly.] 'Tis to see the Dean — . 

Stella. 
To see the Dean? And why, madam? 



DE AN SW IF T 155 

Esther. 
Because — ah, madam — for two happy years Swift made 
our house his home — . He — that had the world for his 
friends — condescended to be friend to me — . Is't any 
wonder that I learned to love him? I love him still and 
have severed ties of home and kindred — . 

Stella. 
[With scorn.] To follow him to Dublin? 

Esther. 
To the world's end if need be! Ah, madam — [taking 
poem from her bosom] this poem — written to me two 
short months ago — [Reading the poem with tearful 
emotion. Stella listens with growing belief in Swift's 
falseness. Dingley with a grim smile.] 

"Would from her height of youth and beauty 
Stoop low to weary pilgrim's hand 
My lady fair? For wifely duty 
Leave all this world can give, 
At my command?" 

Stella. 
[Brokenly.] For wifely duty!!! 

Dingley. 
Aye — didn't I warn ye? 

Esther. 
[Kissing and replacing the poem. Swift enters door 
3. His beaming look changes to a heavy frown as he 
pauses there. Dingley alone sees him. She utters a 
low, scornful laugh.] Ah, madam, isn't it proof that 
Swift loves me? But there are ties that bind him to 
another — . 



156 DE AN SWIF T 

Stella. 
[With tears.] And if those ties were broken — ? 

Esther. 
[Kneeling and pressing Stella's dress to her lips, her 
face radiant.] Ah — madam — ah-h — . 

Stella. 
[Now discovering Swift as he comes down. Looking 
at him, but speaking to Esther.] Then, madam, from 
this moment Swift is free — ! [Rising and turning to 
Dingley with extended arms.] Dingley — Dingley — . 

[Esther rises slowly, sees Swift and retreats to rear 
with affrighted looks. Jeems nears her protectingly. 
Swift ignores Esther all through scene.] 

Dingley. 
[Taking Stella to her bosom and glaring over her 
head at Swift.] My poor lamb — . 

Swift. 

[Sternly, to Stella.] Stella — [Moving toward her.] 

Stella. 
[With tears.] Don't touch me — don't touch me — . 

Swift. 
STELLA—! 

Stella. 
Dingley, take me away — away — . 

Dingley. 
Fear naught, child. Dingley is here to protect you ! 



DE AN SWIF T 157 

Swift. 
Since when, Mistress Dingley, hath it been needful to 
"protect" a woman in the Deanery of Swift? 

Dingley. 
Ask her — your Lunnun charmer — . 

Swift. 
So then — ye've lured yonder girl across the channel to 
tell a tale that is but half the truth? [Signs of agony 
showing.] 

Dingley. 
She came hersel' — to demand the keepin' o' your 
promises — ! 

Swift. 
Promises — PROMISES? [Suddenly flinging up his 
arms with wild look.] 

Stella. 
Ah, then — deny her story — . Say that you did not write 
the poem — . 

Swift. 
Ha ha ha — Deny it? [Superbly.] Why should I? 
'Twas writ — like a thousand others, to the beauties o' 
the English court — . Was missing Maid o' Honor? Find 
her in the arms of Swift— . Was wanted faithless wife ? 
Ha ha — seek her in the lodgin's o' the Dean — . 

Dingley. 
Aye — aye — Quane's bed-chamber — Quane's bed-cham- 
ber — . [To Stella, leading her to left.] Come away, 
child—. 

Swift. 
Aye — aye — [jeeringly, down front as if alone.] An 
honor to be Mistress Swift — an honor — she would have 
it so. — 



158 DE AN SWIF T 

Stella. 
[With appealing arms.] Swift — dear Swift — . 

Swift. 
Till death do us part — . Her words — her LYING 
words — . 

Dingley. 
Come away, child — come away to Mistress White — to 
Lunnun — [bearing Stella out at left, the door closing 
with a slam.] 

Swift. 
[Waking to the noise, staring wildly about, then to 
settee. Suddenly dashing to door 1 he tears it open and 
stands in the afternoon sunlight peering off under his 
hand. Esther shrinks close to door 2 beside Jeems. 
After a moment Swift re-enters, comes down front with 
staring eyes, finger on lips. Then, explosively.] She's 
gone — GONE. 'Twas Dingley took her away — Dingley — 
curse her — / 

Jeems. 
[In low tone, seizing Esther's arm.] Come away, 
Mistress — . 

Esther. 
[Watching Swift with pitying look.] No — no — I'll not 
go—. 

Jeems. 
But, Mistress, can't you see that he's mad? 

Esther. 
Mad ! ! ! Ah — 'tis what he always feared — . [Be- 
ginning to move toward Swift, Jeems follows closely.] 



DEAU SWIFT 159 

Swift. 
[Turning, discovering Esther as if a stranger. Beckon- 
ing her with winning smile.] Come hither, madam — who 
are you and what do you here? 

Jeems. 
[Holding Esther back.] Mistress Esther — . 

Swift. 
Come — I say — [Esther snatches the letters from 
Jeems and approaches Swift with sweetly pitying look. 
Swift takes her hand.] Your name, Madam — [Soft 
tones of organ begin.] 

Esther. 
Tis Esther Van Homrigh. [Swift's sudden recoil 
shows his mind is clearing.] 

Jeems. 
[Loudly.] Mistress — Beware — Beware — . 

Swift. 
Esther Van Homrigh? Aye — so 'tis [with infinite sar- 
casm.] And what sees your fine ladyship in wretched 
Dublin? 

Esther. 
[Tenderly.] 'Twas to see the Dean — 'tis now to com- 
fort him — . 

Swift. 
[Towering above her.] So, madam. You've not only 
crossed the channel in pursuit of me but have forced my 
gates as well? [Forcing her to her knees.] You have 
dared— DARED— . 



160 DE AN SWIF T 

Esther. 

[With terrified look and loosened hair, holding up let- 
ters.] 'Twas to ask the question that's written here — 
Swift — Swift — . 

Swift. 

[Snatching letters and flinging them broadcast. Jeems 
comes and gathers them up quickly.] The question? 
'Tis answered. [Grandly, thinking Jeems is Patrick. 
Pointing to RIGHT.] Patrick — summon madam's 
coach — . Escort her to my gate — [Voices of choristers 
faintly heard. Swift catches the sounds, moves to read- 
ing-desk and begins to beat time 'with happy smile. Jeems 
half -carries Esther out door 1.] 

Choristers. 
[Faintly chanting beyond door 3. Swift's lips move as 
if repeating the words.] 

O — praise the Lord — praise the L-o-r-d — 
Show yourselves joyful to the L-o-r-d — . 

Swift. 
[Beating time and now chanting with the others.] 
Set me a seal upon mine arm — mine arm — 
A seal — a seal upon mine heart — . 
For love — for love is strong as death — 
As strong as d-e-a-t-h — 
For 1-o-v-e i-s s-t-r-o-n-g — . 

[Voices die away as Swift wakes to anguish.] 
"For love is strong as death — " God — oh God — [fall- 
ing face down at reading-desk.] 

Ford. 

[Enters door 3 with beaming smile. Discovering 
Swift.] Swift — [thinking him at prayer, pausing. After 



BE AN SW IF T 161 

a moment gently touching his arm.] Swift — 'tis time 
for the ceremony — Archbishop waits — . Time for hap- 
piness and Stella — . 

Swift. 
[Raising a haggard face.] Stella? Stella's gone — ! 

Ford. 
[Recoiling.] Gone, sir? You mean that — . 

Swift. 
Gone with Dingley — . 

Ford. 

With Dingley? 

Swift. 

To London — Gone from me — forever ! [Again falling 
face down at reading-desk as Ford retreats to right to 
stand, his face on his arm against the wall.] 

[Distant sounds, the same rollicking melody, cheers and 
cries of "The Dean" — "Lord Mayor-r-" — "Freedom of 
C-i-t-y — /' Delany, his friends and the Lord Mayor in 
his robes of state, bearing a large golden key on a crimson 
velvet cushion, enters door 1, the green-coated band play- 
ing and a cheering crowd of citizens beyond door. De- 
lany again intent on ranging his friends against the rear 
wall. Swift's posture is taken by all to mean that he is 
in prayer till Ford crosses, points to Swift and whispers 
■ the truth. Delany whispers the truth to those near him, 
the Lord Mayor gets it, Delany signals to the band, the 
crowd beyond. The animated picture becomes a silent 
tableau as — .] 

CURTAIN. 
End of Act Fourth. 



EPILOGUE. 

Sitting-room of the Deanery of St. Patrick's 
Cathedral. Twenty-five years later. Late afternoon 
of an autumn day. 

[The sitting-room shows the marks of time. Chairs set 
primly against the rear wall. The silken curtains, frayed 
and faded, drawn apart over the empty bookshelves. 
The flag with the letter T still hangs on the wall, its 
colors faded. Table now at back-centre, bare of all 
but a green-shaded lamp. Swift's chair is at right, 
its crimson faded. The two-paned window over door 
1 is open and shows a bit of blue sky. All doors 
closed.] 

[Ford, richly but sombrely dressed, his hair silvered at the 
temples and his face older, sits at the table reading a 
book. Patrick is entering from door 3 a second 
green-shaded lamp in hand. Patrick's hair is silvered 
though his cheeks are still ruddy. He walks with the 
slouching gait of the old peasant as he crosses to place 
the lamp on the mantel-shelf, turning its wick up and 
down in childish pleasure, finally moving off to idly 
flick the chairs with his red cotton handkerchief. 
After a moment distant music is heard. Patrick 
listens with childish delight.] 

Ford. 
[Looking up.] Hark, Patrick — . 



DEAN SWIFT 163 

Patrick. 
[Rubbing his hands with glee.] Aye, Masther Ford — . 
An' they'll be lightin' the bonfires soon — . 

Ford. 
[Sadly.] Swift's birthday which Dublin's honored these 
many years — . [Sighing.] Any letters to answer, Pat- 
rick? 

Patrick. 
Nary wan, sor. Sure, the Dane's friends ha' all for- 
saken him — . 

Ford. 
But five-an-twenty years make great changes, Pat- 
rick — . How is the Dean this afternoon? Any clearer 
in mind? 

Patrick. 
No. He's sittin' wi' his head on his breast as he's sat 
these five years — thinkin' av nothin' — [After a moment.] 
Those mad fits, sor — . 

Ford. 
Heaven grant they trouble him no more. [Reading 
again.] 

Patrick. 
[Coming down, eagerly.] When the Dane's gone am 
to ring Cathedral bell, sor? 

Ford. 
[Discarding book to walk about. After a moment.] 
Yes. 

Patrick. 
[Rubbing his hands with glee.] A pull for every year, 
sor — That'll make seventy sthrokes, do'ent they, Masther 
Ford? 



164 DE AN SWIF T 

Ford. 
[After a moment.] Yes, Patrick, seventy strokes — 
[Looking at his watch.] Five o'clock. The people will 
soon be here. Bring the Dean in, as usual, and place him 
in his chair. 

Patrick. 
Yes, sor [Slouching out door 3.] 
[Ford returns to read his book. Then a bronzed and 
bearded man in travelling dress enters door 1 without 
knocking. Ford looks up at him as at a stranger, rising 
with a smile.] 

Richard Hays. 

[Coming quickly forward with extended hand and 
genial smile.] Ah, Ford — . 

Ford. 
[Taking the hand.] Yes? And — you? 

Richard. 
[With a deep laugh.] Richard Hays — at your ser- 
vice — . 

Ford. 
[Surprised, smiling.] Indeed? From London? 

Richard. 

Aha — now of America — [taking the chair that Ford 
indicates, tossing his hat on table and sitting at ease.] 
Richard Hays — the irritable puppy of other days — ha ha — 
who "exiled" himself hknodtf for a woman's sake — . 
But — ha ha — I met another and a fairer Esther who's 
now the happy mother of sons and daughters — You also 
married, Ford? 

Ford. 

[Gravely, after a moment.] No. When did you ar- 
rive? 



DEAN SWIFT 165 

Richard. 
But yesterday — after a voyage of many weeks. [Look- 
ing round.] And — the Dean — how is he? 

Ford. 
You've surely heard — ? 

Richard. 
Ha ha — there are no post-offices on an American plan- 
tation. But from the bonfires — the green flags — Swift's 
name on every lip — . 

Ford. 
Swift's birthday, which Dublin's celebrated these five- 
and-twenty years. 

Richard. 
Ah — Swift was ever a genius — though to my young 
eyes — [A pause. With regret.] Five-and-twenty years 
have carried off my London friends. My aunt — little 
Molly — [rising and walking about. Abruptly.] I heard 
but once from my cousin Esther — . Swift killed her as 
surely as if he'd put a bullet into her heart — . 

Ford. 
Yet the Dean paid the highest price of all — . 

Richard. 
Mistress Stella — . 

Ford. 
When the Deanery gates closed upon her — [silent.] 

Richard. 
And — the Dean? 

Ford. 
Devoted himself to his country's welfare — Till — a sud- 
den darkness — . 



166 DEAN SWIFT 

Richard. 
A — sudden darkness? You mean — ? 

[Ford points to right where Patrick is leading the 
Dean in. Swift is the shadow of his former self. 
Shrunken form, lustreless eyes, his snowy hair falling to 
his shoulders. In black cassock and linen bands. In his 
right hand he carries a white handkerchief. Patrick 
the awe of "the masther" absent, places Swift in his 
chair and moves to rear, beginning to flick the chairs with 
his handkerchief. Swift's head begins to roll from side 
to side, his eyes closed, on his forehead a querulous 
frown.] 

Ford. 

[Moving to Swift and gently brushing a silver lock 
from his brow. Not lowering his voice.] Come nearer, 
Richard — . 

Richard. 

[Moving to Swift, his face showing his amaze, regret. 
Lowering his voice.] God — what a change is here — what 
a change. For how long? 

Ford. 
[Not lowering his voice.] These five years past — . 

Richard. 
He remembers nothing of the past? 

Ford. 
Try him and see. 

Richard. 

Swift — 'Tis Richard Hays — [Swift makes no sign.] 
Forgotten ! 



DEAN SWIFT 167 

Ford. 
[As if addressing Swift.] As is the name of — MIS- 
TRESS STELLA! [Swift makes no sign. The rollick- 
ing melody of other days and the cheering voices reach 
to beyond door 1.] 

Richard. 
[Frowning.] That uproar — . 

Ford. 
He hears it not — . 

[Patrick hurries to Ford and points to the head and 
shoulders of a man rising within the two-paned window, a 
wreath in one hand, a page of printed matter in the other. 
Ford beckons Richard to stand with him beyond Swift's 
chair. Man at window pantomimes to those below for 
silence. Reading from page.] 

Fellow-citizens, we are gathered here today to celebrate 
the birthday of the man — who — these many years — has 
fought and won for us so many civic victories. A strong 
soul — a brilliant mind — a tender heart. Fellow-citizens, 
time may come and time may go — but the name of Jono- 
than Swift will not only adorn the pages of History — but 
will be enshrined within every Irish heart — FOREVER. 

[Wild cheers without. Ford crosses to left, man in 
window drops the wreath into his hand, pantomiming in- 
cidents within to those outside. Ford places the wreath 
on the twist at the back of Swift's chair, where it forms 
a "halo" for his snowy head. Loud cries of "The 
D-A-N-E—."] 

A Voice Outside. 
[Vibrant, like a trumpet-call.] Swift — Swift — VIVA 
SWIFT— SPEECH— S-P-E-E-C-H— . 



168 DE AN SW IFT 

[Swift's eyes open suddenly, his head stops rolling, he 
shows that he hears the call. Ford, Richard and Patrick 
draw nearer. Swift struggles to rise, his glance up at the 
window, he rises, raises his hand with the authority of 
other days — makes an effort to speak — suddenly collapses 
into chair, the hand holding the handkerchief falls from 
his breast. Man at window drops out of sight, the music 
and cheers fade. Swift's eyes close, his head ceases 
to roll, the handkerchief drops from his hand. Patrick 
whispers to Ford, who nods, Patrick slouches quickly out 
of door 3. Ford and Richard draw nearer. Swift's 
face changes to a look of peace. Deep booming of 
Cathedral bell as — .] 

CURTAIN. 

END OF THE PLAY. 



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